


Locked and Loaded

by Noble_Lady_of_Magvel



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 20:46:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 76,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6823489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noble_Lady_of_Magvel/pseuds/Noble_Lady_of_Magvel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not much is known about Blight, or the 46th Hunger Games. Due to "technical difficulties", the tapes were never released, but what happened during the so-called "Secret Games" that nobody was allowed to talk about? Reaped along with the best and brightest tributes of their districts, how did he manage to come home? Rated T for language, violence, and major character death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Redneck Country

**Bobby Jean "Blight" Oakley District Seven Male**

In the early morning of a District Seven summer a scraggly youth slept outside on an old lawn chair, head lolling to one side, an arm draped over a dusty-coloured dog dozing on his lap.

The shad flies buzzed drunkenly in the heat, from a basin of water left out from laundry a day ago to a clump of wildflowers half-wilted against the splotchy brown grass, then buzzing around the sleeping boy's face. He frowned and batted them away, continuing to sleep.

Blight dreamt. Of wide empty spaces and nothing in the distance. Dream-Blight rocked back and forth on a wooden rocking chair, pausing only to spit a wad of tobacco on the ground and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. He closed his eyes and sighed as he relaxed. It was quiet. Peaceful. There were no cares or worries in his dreams, it was like he was the only one in the-

A rusted door swung open with a screech and his mother poked her head outside. "Bobby Jean Oakley, get yer behind over here, I ain't keepin' yer breakfast warm forever," she hollered.

Blight opened one eye in irritation, annoyed at being jerked out of sound sleep and wrenched his body up from the broken lawn chair, dumping the dog to the ground.

 _Ruuuuuuu,_ the dog whined when his matted fur landed splat on the dirt.

"Aw don't give me that look Dusty, blame ma."

Blight ran a hand through his greasy hair and yawned.

"I'm comin' ma, keep yer voice down, they can probably hear you all the way in the Capitol," he hollered back. _The one day I can sleep in and the darned woman wakes me up early,_ he thought angrily.

Before he climbed up the rickety steps to his family's trailer he made a sweeping glance around his home nicknamed 'the Sticks'. Lawn chairs were strewn outside under broken umbrellas in a desperate attempt for shade from the blistering sun metal spokes protruding and all, where older men and women were still dozing.

The outside air was preferable to the cramped and stuffy trailers that they called home, as long as they didn't mind the flies. The tiny buzzing shadflies hovered lazily amoung the smashed amber bottles tied to doorsteps with string like wind chimes, once in a while they would bump into a strip of fly paper that was completely covered in dead flies and bump right back off into the sleeping faces of those who strung them.

Blight slapped a fly away and squinted at the horizon. The Sun was pretty high in the sky actually, a lot higher than when he usually woke up at dusk.

Well, maybe his mother didn't wake him early.

He finally turned to to climb up the broken stairs to his family's trailer, stomping his feet as loudly and annoyingly as possible. As he swung open the door he scratched at the mosquito bite on the back of his knee absent-mindedly. When he fell asleep he was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a frayed shirt, his basic everyday outfit, plus his prized possession, an orange and white trucker cap which he kept on his head and almost never took off. He raised an arm and gave his armpit a furtive sniff. Only mildly pungent, not exactly eye-wateringly sour which meant he didn't have to change, he thought with satisfaction.

Blight wasn't exactly an ugly teen, but he wasn't anything close to handsome either. He was a tall, gangly boy who might have actually been decent looking if he was willing to put in the effort and clean himself up. Too bad he wasn't. His greasy, dirty-blond hair could use a good cut but he couldn't be bothered taking a pair of scissors to it when he could just blow his bangs out of his eyes. His face held the hint of a sparse beard and scraggly moustache but he didn't feel like shaving when it would just grow back the next day. His body smelled of someone who didn't bathe regularly, but it didn't raise an eyebrow in the Sticks where daily baths were seen as a waste of water.

He dropped down on a plastic lawn chair next to his brother and sisters in front of the dining table which was covered with a plastic checkerboard tablecloth that crackled when his mother set down a plate of warm tesserae biscuits in front of him.

The television was on at full volume, as usual, and Blight rubbed his forehead already feeling a headache coming on. "Can't you take that darned hat off for just one moment?" his mother, a large, buxom woman with rollers still in her hair snapped. "Today all those fancy shmancy Capitol cameramen are gonna be here and you should want to look a bit more y'know, sophistimacated," she sniffed, primping the bouquet of wildflowers in a boot that was the centerpiece of the table.

"Aw, leave the boy alone," his father, a stick-thin man that he bore a strong resemblance to, grunted. "Ain't nothin' wrong with wearin' darned a hat inside."

His mother whirled around, nostrils flaring and meaty hands on her ample hips. "Why y'all always be fightin' with me in front of the kids huh? Can't I say one thing without you havin' to pick a fight?" she demanded.

"Pa's right," Blight's sister Jessie-Ann chimed in as she shifted her baby to her other hip. "Y'all are always naggin' at us fer somethin' or 'nother. Lester's always tellin' me you couldn't hush up if Panem depended on it."

"Yer husband's the one who should be hushin' up now," his mother snapped. "That man's been in and out of jail more than times than you can shake a stick at for mouthin' off to some Peacekeeper. If y'all don't find better taste in men fast, you and baby Jakey's gonna be in some deep trouble, I'll tell you what." she warned.

"Ain't nothin' wrong with Lester!"

"Nothin wrong? That man's screwed 'round the head, I'll tell you what! What's he saying this time, that the President is some alien that came back in time from the future? That the Capitol has some machine that keeps spitting salt, so they throw it into the ocean and that's why it's salty?"

Jessie Ann flushed and shook her frazzled straw-coloured hair out of her eyes. "No ma, the Peacekeepers got mad at him for talkin' 'bout that," she nodded to the blaring black and white television at the head of the table.

"Just look at the resemblance!" Panem's favourite tabloid newscaster slammed down two photographs of what looked like the same boy down on the table. "Randall's scared that's what, why else would he keep denying to perform a paternity test and finally put this case to rest?"

"Well can you blame him? If he humours this one then every lying District bastard in Panem would be claiming some relation to a Capitolite, it would be impossible to deal with them all. Best if he ignores this boy and not waste his time," his co-host declared.

"Do we have word from young Isaac Paylor himself?"

The shot cut away to a handsome youth smothered by a media reporters and cameramen. In the background the stinking factories and pollution of District Eight fogged the cameras until Blight could almost taste the noxious fumes. He had to admit though, there there was something about his striking features, the way his blue eyes and blonde hair shone that looked out of place with his dirty clothing and the grim backdrop.

"Marcus Randall IS my father, and if that's not proof enough, then this is!" he spat in disgust. Isaac Paylor kicked open a briefcase at his feet, it sprang apart to reveal stacks upon stacks of bills bound tightly by rubber bands, more money than Blight had ever seen in his life.

There was an audible gasp from the paparazzi, followed by rapidly clicking cameras.

"He tried to pay me off and buy my silence but I'm not taking it! Tell him I'm not interested this chump change, I want my birthright!"

"Well if that was me I'd just take that money," Blight's mother remarked. She pinched baby Jakey's cheek and his pink mouth scowled in protest.

"Y'all think Jakey could grow up and look like some high-falutin' Capitolite and make us stinkin' rich?"

"Stop it, you're a terrible grandma!" Jessie Ann snapped and pulled her baby away.

Blight chewed his biscuit slowly as his mother and sister continued to argue and turned his attention to the other side of the table where his younger siblings were sitting, hoping in vain for quiet.

"Scared for your first Reaping Milly?" his younger brother Cody taunted and tugged on the end of his sister's dirty blonde pigtail. "Whatcha doing to do if you get picked?"

She kicked him under the table and stuck out her tongue. "Hope that you get picked too so I can finally kill you and no one can say boo about it," she replied primly.

"Y'all shut your mouth over there," Blight's mother hollered from across the table, making all three of them jump, "no one in this family's gettin' reaped." She said it firmly as if saying it strongly enough would make it true. She crossed her meaty arms over her chest and thrust out her chin in determination as if she would fight someone if any of her children actually did get reaped. Nobody said it but they knew it was an empty gesture, against the Capitol's Hunger Games there was nothing she could do.

"Aw, you don't know that," his father began.

"What did I tell you about fightin' me in front of the kids?" She howled and smacked him over the head with a frying pan, hard.

"Dammit woman, the pan's still hot," his father snapped and rubbed the back of his head which already beginning to swell.

The loud thunk caused baby Jakey to begin to cry, adding his high-pitched screams to the din. Everyone was too busy with their own arguments to pay attention to him and quiet him down so he screamed louder as if vying for attention.

Eventually, his shrieking reached a level that overpowered everyone else and the entire household was forced to stop arguing.

"I gotta pick up Lester from jail, can you look after Jakey for me?" Jessie-Ann hollered, passing the screaming baby to an annoyed Blight.

"Hell, it ain't my baby, it ain't my problem." He tried to pass him back to his sister but she pushed him into his arms.

"Please Blight? Nobody wants their son to have to see his daddy in jail," she begged.

Blight rubbed his forehead and sighed heavily. He debated back and forth in his head a bit and grudgingly accepted the baby. "Fine, but you owe me," he grumbled.

"Thanks a bunch Blight, there's a reason I made you his god-daddy." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and dashed out, slamming the door behind her which only caused Jakey to cry harder.

Blight groaned and pressed a hand to his throbbing temple. He loved his family, he really did, but he also hated the noise and conflict that arose from too many people in a too small space. Between all the hollering, fighting, and screaming, he couldn't stand being in his own home sometimes.

With baby Jakey in tow, he grabbed his rifle near the door and opened the door again. "I'm gonna go out to shoot somethin'," he hollered, not caring if anyone heard him. Based on the arguments which had instantly resumed once the screaming baby was out the door, he doubted anyone would miss him.

He trudged along, bouncing baby Jakey gently up and down as his boots crunched on the crisp, dewy grass. As the sounds of his family's arguing became muted and Jakey stopped crying, Blight's tense shoulders relaxed.

He tied his now-quiet nephew to his back and jogged past the identical, rusted beaten-down trailers that made up his part of District Seven nicknamed the Sticks. Their neighbourhood was largely made up of tired men and women whose fair necks were sunburned an unfortunate shade of red from too much outdoor work, often poor, uneducated, and looked down on by the rest of District Seven.

The road was usually crowded with weary foresters in jeans or overalls with shovels slung over their backs, ready to replant saplings that would one day be felled by the lumberjacks when they matured, but today the dirt lanes were empty, shutters barely hanging on the hinges on the battered trailer windows were closed save for the occasional forgotten clothesline.

The reaping wasn't until noon so anybody of working age slept in, relishing the rare holiday. Blight passed a gaggle of children splashing in the mud, too young to understand what the Reaping was. They would probably be the only ones shrieking with genuine laughter today, he thought grimly.

When he reached the site of his family's assigned plot, Blight cleaned and loaded his rifle with a fresh magazine. He adjusted the brim of his hat and squinted at the feral vulture mutts circling lazily above the newly planted saplings.

Blight cocked his rifle back and pulled the trigger with a click.

_Bang!_

The brown-feathered cockatrice fell from the sky with a squawk, landing neatly at his feet. Cockatrice were a mutt developed during the rebellion to wreak havoc among the rebels. Part vulture, part eagle, their razor-sharp claws and beaks honed in on anything that moved, a deadly weapon against a rebellion. Even after the rebellion they would attack civilians if they weren't careful. They only had a single small weak spot too, a coin-sized area on their breast. Hit them elsewhere and bullets would just ping off the rest of their body.

He walked over to it's limp body and tossed it in his burlap sack. Terrifying as they were, they tasted pretty damn good fried in tessara oil.

In most parts of the districts owning any type of firearm was illegal, but the Sticks was an exception. Every household was required by law to possess at least one to defend themselves and their saplings. It wasn't as if they could arm themselves for a rebellion, their out-dated rifles couldn't hold a candle to the Peacekeepers' bulletproof uniforms and modern machine guns. Guns that could turn an entire block into a massacre in less than a minute.

Two more cockatrice came soaring by in the place of their fallen comrade. Blight sighed and shot two more times. According to his sister's husband, the Capitol could have easily exterminated the cockatrice after the rebellion, but left them alone to terrorize the populace as a reminder of the Capitol's power.

Blight rolled his eyes and shook his head at the thought of his brother-in-law. Blight had no idea how he came up with his conspiracy theories, but everyday he was spouting nonsense like the Peacekeepers were actually mutts cloned by District 2, and that District 13 was still out there and preparing to wage war against the Capitol.

Nobody except Jessie-Ann bothered to listen to his rambling. Everybody else simply ignored him except the Peacekeepers who treated him like a joke because he was probably the most entertaining thing in the Sticks. However they did throw him in jail for a few days at a time whenever they were bored or he said something they thought went too far.

Blight glanced up at the sky. No more cockatrice. He settled Jakey gently on the ground, stretched his hands behind his head and laid down next to a fallen log, watching the clouds go by. The only sound in the air was the occasional tweets and chirps of the forest wildlife. It was this rare peace and quiet that Blight cherished the most, and as he closed his eyes for a quick nap he could feel his frown easing into a smile and his dark mood fading away.

* * *

**A/N So I caved and decided to start posting at least the first chapter. I've got almost half the story stockpiled and ready to go, the other part just needing to be edited. Just seeing how much interest there still is for minor Victors (I think the fandom is winding down though so...) I'm still not satisfied with the pacing, if anybody has tips I would be grateful. Last note: Credit goes to SFCBruce for the idea of Isaac "Ike" Paylor's side story. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Reaping

**Bobby Jean "Blight" Oakley District Seven Male**

Blight dozed off for a while, lying on his back with the grass as his pillow. When baby Jakey began to fuss, he sat up and bounced his nephew up and down gently on his knee.

"Don't worry little buddy," he murmured. "Sure yer pa's not right in the head but uncle Blight'll take care of ya."

He took off his precious hat and placed it gently over his nephew's head. "When you grow up uncle Blight'll teach you how to shoot. Who knows, maybe you'll be real good and win one of these yourself," he chuckled, turning the cap so the brim was backwards on Jakey's now-smiling face.

Even as a young boy Blight had a natural talent for shooting, a "once in a lifetime prodigy like his grandpappy," his father had boasted while he mussed his hair. He had grown up shooting along with his father and was proud to say that his clearest and earliest memory was the crack of a gunshot followed by the burnt smell of metal and gunpowder. There was no target, moving or still that he couldn't hit.

Once on a dare he flipped a coin in the air and shot a hole clean through it. All his friends were impressed but his mother beat him black and blue for wasting perfectly good money. Blight had simply took the beating and shrugged it off, shooting was the one thing he was good at and he wasn't gonna hide it.

Especially when during the hottest, stickiest days of summer after the Games, skeet-shooting became a sort of competition along with mud wrestling and seed-spitting in the Sticks. Skeet-shooting involved shooting clay disks thrown at various heights and angles and was evaluated by accuracy and distance. When he was ten he won his prized hat skeet-shooting against grown men twice his age and the Peacekeepers- and they were no slouches when it came to gun-practice.

It wasn't just any hat either but a limited-edition Capitol League Expo hat, white body and orange panels with a graphene badge of the Capitol's crest in the centre of the crown. A Capitol official who had an admittedly strange infatuation with the culture of the Sticks of District Seven had donated it for the competition as a prize. Even today it was the proudest moment of his life and wearing the hat reminded him of how he had felt that day, proud, exhilarated, and a true winner. He grinned at the memory, still vivid after all these years.

Back in the present, Jakey cooed and made a funny face. Blight wrinkled his nose and gagged at the smell that now emanated from his nephew's now-dirty diaper. "C'mon, let's get you changed," he muttered as he got to his feet and headed back home.

.

"Ma, we're back," he called when he slammed open the taped-over broken screen door of their trailer. "And Jakey needs a change," he added.

"Thought you'd gone done a runner," she called from the kitchen area. "Yer sister's not back yet. You bring back anythin'?"

He nodded and handed her the three birds he had just shot down for his mother to pluck, clean, roll in cornflakes, and fry. The birds would be served that night for dinner, and then the neck, gizzard, heart and liver would be used to make a gravy that would make even the dry tessera biscuits a savory treat.

"I've bin savin' up and we're gonna have a real feast tonight, on account of it's your last Reaping and all." She proudly opened the fridge to reveal a jiggling bowl of red-white-blue victory jello, a dessert usually eaten on special occasions like birthdays or weddings.

He grinned. "For real ma? Just for getting past the Reaping?"

She gave him a reassuring smile and patted his cheek quickly. "The last Reaping's always the scariest, but I know you'll be fine," she whispered.

The thought of tonight's dessert cheered him up so much that the task of changing Jakey's diaper wasn't as unpleasant as usual. Still, Blight had to hold his nose and gag when he dropped the dirty diaper in the overflowing bin for his sister to wash later. After that he washed up quickly in the tub of warm water his mother had waiting for him and dressed in a clean version of his earlier outfit for the Reaping.

When he was finally ready, he walked into the main area to see his younger siblings already dressed in their worn Reaping clothes, frayed at the hems and thin around the knees and elbows.

"You got something in your hair Milly," Cody snickered as he dropped beetle in her neat braids.

"Maaaaa, Cody's buggin' me," she whined.

Blight chuckled as well but hastily turned it into a cough when his mother turned to glare at him.

"Come on y'all, we can't be late or we'll miss our ride, your father and sister are waiting at the truck stop." His mother grabbed a cooing Jakey from the changing table and shooed everyone out the door. They hustled down the road until they came across a crowd of their neighbours milling around the rusted sign labeled 'TRUCK STOP'.

"Ma, we're over here," Blight heard his sister call, just as the truck pulled up. They followed her waving arm and he saw from the corner of his eye his brother-in-law hand bottles of water to the grateful truck driver's outstretched hands.

Barely anyone in District Seven knew how to drive, all the truck drivers came from District Six and they wore electric shock collars to prevent them from stepping out of their vehicle or going off route. He wondered how they went to the bathroom, but then quickly decided he didn't want to know. Everybody filed slowly into the back of the truck, conversations fading away as they remembered their grim destination.

It was pretty accurate to use trucks that transport lumber for the Capitol to transport tributes for the Capitol, Blight mused. It was like some phrase that was taught to every little kid in school, "the Capitol gives, and the Capitol takes away." He felt someone jostle his elbow and turned to his left.

"Hey Blight, how're you doing?" Lester greeted him. He had lost weight, like he always did after spending time in jail, and his characteristically unfocused eyes and manical smile on his face reflected the simple-mindedness inside his empty head.

"Fine," he grunted and looked away, hoping his brother-in-law would take the hint and leave him alone.

"Sitting in jail, you know what I realized?" He leaned over and whispered in his ear as if he were sharing some great secret.

Blight grunted noncommittally as the truck roared to life and they began bumping along the worn roads.

"The dew on the grass, it's actually painted on in the mornings." Lester nodded sagely at his own words. "By tiny invisible men. With tiny invisible buckets and paintbrushes."

"Tiny invisible men?" Blight cocked his head to the side and pretended to seriously think about it to humour his brother-in-law. As annoying as Lester was, he always did his fair share of the work and treated his sister kindly so Blight did try to humour him and hide the fact he thought his brother-in-law was a stark-raving lunatic. "It sure is," he muttered and pulled the brim of his hair over his eyes, hoping to end the conversation.

"I know right? And guess what I realized about Paylor in District Eight..."

Blight groaned and slid down the wall of the truck. To hell with being nice, this was going to be a long trip.

When they finally disembarked and he was able to disengage himself from his brother-in-law, he stretched his legs and joined the long line up to sign in with his younger brother who was uncharacteristically quiet and pensive when he had to say goodbye to Milly.

"You nervous Cody?" he asked his brother.

"Naw, cause you'd volunteer for me if I get reaped won't ya?" his brother grinned cheekily.

Blight laughed. "Sorry buddy, I ain't planning on volunteering for you more than you plan on volunteering for Milly." He ruffled Cody's hair affectionately. "Good luck though and-"

"May the odds be ever in your favour," he finished in a mock-Capitol accent.

"Next," a Peacekeeper called.

Blight held out his hand for the Peacekeeper to take his blood sample.

"Bobby Jean Oakley, eighteen years old section, next!"

He swaggered over to his section, almost right in front of the make-shift stage. Despite what his mother said, he had actually been the most nervous during his first Reaping. As the years went by, his number of slips increased but the ceremony had became more and more familiar and less scary as his name failed to be called every year.

All he had to do now was get through this year and he was home free. The atmosphere in the eighteens section was relatively relaxed and carefree compared to the rigid twelves where they were all so sure they would be picked.

"Last Reaping," he heard someone whisper to the boy next to him. "If you aren't dead do you wanna go to the pub afterward?"

Blight chatted idly with some of the other boys from the Sticks, thankfully about sane topics without any mention of tiny invisible men or the like. Eventually the town clock struck noon and the mayor stepped up to the podium for his speech. It was the same every year, detailing the founding of Panem, the first rebellion, and the creation of the Hunger Games.

Blight shifted on his feet, wishing for him to hurry up and get it over with. _Yeah yeah, we get it already. It's the rebels' fault we have to do this so don't rebel or else._ It was the same video they played every year at the Reaping, and at the beginning of the school year, and at the end of the school year, and the holidays. _We get the flippin' point already!_

Finally, the mayor concluded by reading the list of past victors. In the past forty-five years District Seven had exactly two.

Timothy Burr, a gloomy looking man his father's age and Ellie Woods, a wizened old woman who won back in the one of the initial Games. The two victors sat side by side, looking barely conscious.

Blight's eyes flicked over to the escort, the ever bright and bubbly Honoria Moon dressed garishly in layers of sky blue chiffon and a matching wig.

"And this year, please give a warm welcome to our escort," the mayor droned.

She practically flounced up to the stage, when suddenly the heel of her shoe snapped and she went sprawling.

A hushed snicker went through the crowd but she pulled herself back to her feet, scary smile intact, brushed herself off, and took the microphone from the mayor's hands. "Hello District Seven, my name is Selphie Saber and it is such an honour to be working with all of you. It's my first year mentoring so I hope you'll all be patient with me," she said with a nervous giggle.

Huh. So it was a new escort. The old one always came in such radically different hair, dress and makeup that Blight wouldn't have known if she hadn't said so.

"As always, happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favour," she beamed. "Now, um it's time for the drawing?" She looked at the mayor who nodded.

"Let's see, um," she shuffled over to the bowl on her left. "Lady's first!"

"Actually, that's the gentleman's bowl," the mayor corrected sheepishly.

"Oh um, well," she shuffled awkwardly across the stage to the other bowl. "Lady's first!"

And this was the point where she would pull out a name that was not Milly.

"Anya Stevens!"

Blight let out a sigh of relief, along with a few other boys whose sisters were safe for another year.

He watched as a muscular girl with short-cropped hair mount the stage with a stony expression on her hard face. There was nothing feminine or pretty about her, in fact Blight had a hard time even believing she was a girl if it wasn't for the fact that she was wearing a skirt. Still, she was brawny and strong looking. District Seven might have a winner this year, he remarked.

"And now for the boys!" Selphie crossed the stage yet again and stuck her hand clumsily into the bowl.

And this was the point where she would pull out a name that wasn't Cody or himself.

"Bobby Jean Oakley!"

An almost dreamy sensation spread through his body because the situation was so unreal.

Did she just?

No.

Yes.

No. His eyes darted back and forth, hoping for another boy with the same name to come forward but nobody did. His whole body felt cold as if he had just jumped into a freezing lake and everything was muted except for the pounding of his heart in his ears.

He felt a gentle shove on his shoulder and turned around to see his friends staring at him in horror. He turned back to the stage where the escort was raking the crowd with her eyes, smile frozen in place. Despite his brain still screaming no, his feet began to move forward on their own until he was up on stage next to Anya. He was vaguely aware of the escort telling them to shake hands. Stunned, he raised his hand which Anya grasped, eyeing him disdainfully.

He turned to face the audience and stood in shocked silence under their perfunctory applause. The anthem sounded and when it ended he was marched by a group of Peacekeepers through the front door of the Justice Building.

Tributes have tried to escape in the past, he remembered his first Reaping where the girl had tried to make a run for it only to be stunned by a Peacekeeper's gun. At that time he had shook his head in disbelief, wondering what the hell she was even doing. Only now did he understood the feeling of being trapped and the desperation to break free.

Once inside, he was conducted to a room and left alone. It wasn't any room either, it was the richest place he had ever been in, with thick, deep carpets, ornate paintings on the walls, and an actual couch. It was the room in the Justice Building where tributes would say goodbye, never to be seen again.

He dropped on the coach, actually sinking down a couple of inches. It wasn't like any seat he was used to, they sat down on lawn chairs and boxes in the Sticks, always rigid and always unyielding. _Like the inevitable fate of Hunger Games_ , he thought in despair as he sank his head in his hands.

He heard the door open with a click. "Immediate family first," he heard a Peacekeeper bark, and looked up to see his family, deathly pale and quiet, as if even baby Jakey knew not to cry. They stared at each other for an impossibly long time.

The last time they were this quiet for this long was when Jessie-Ann had announced that she was pregnant, and Lester was the father.

Suddenly his father, a grown man began to cry silently, his shoulders shaking and tears running down his face. It was the first time he had seen his father cry, Blight realized and suddenly he knew that shit just got real.

"Bobby Jean," his mother began, her voice soft and quavering instead of powerful and booming. "Everybody knows you're the best skeet-shooter in this neck of the woods, if you can get your hands on a weapon, maybe a bow, then you have a real chance."

But he didn't have a chance. His mother must know that in her heart. Without a rifle, he could never stand up to the strength of the tributes from the Career districts. Boys twice his size, girls who knew twenty ways to kill with a knife, all trained killers out for blood.

And besides, a rifle was completely different from a bow, even if did manage to find one.

He tried to protest but his mother shushed him and crushed his head into her chest.

"Please son, you have to try to come home," she sobbed. The rest of his family put their arms around him in an awkward hug.

"I'll try," he mumbled, but deep down knew his promise wouldn't amount to much when twenty-four tributes went in and only one came out.

The Peacekeepers were back too soon, and his family asked for more time but they ushered them out the door before he could even say goodbye properly.

The door closed momentarily, then quietly reopened. Lester walked straight towards him with a purposeful stride and a grim expression on his strangely serious face. He wasn't weepy or evasive, instead there was a sense of urgency about his tone that surprised him.

"Listen Blight, the Games aren't like what everybody thinks, it isn't just victory or death, tributes have escaped from the arena in the past and _so can you_."

Blight groaned inwardly. Just what he needed, more ramblings from a madman.

"All you gotta do is cut off the tracker or slow your heart beat enough to make the Gamemakers think you're dead, and once you're in the hovercraft the workers there will help you."

"Thanks Lester." Blight tried to smile, not believing a word he said. "Means a lot to me. Really does."

"You don't believe me do you?" Lester said softly in a tone Blight had never heard. He shook his head, the crazy manic look in his eye quickly returning.

"Well, good luck Blight," he waved cheerfully.

Blight blinked in confusion.

But before he could puzzle out Lester's strange behaviour, various friends from school came streaming in with a flood of apologies and awkward pats on the back. Occasionally there was an optimistic "You can come back, you're an amazing shot!" but most of all there were goodbyes and the unspoken acknowledgment that he would not be coming home alive.

Too soon, his hour was up and it was time to board the train. The station was less than a mile from Town Square, but another driver from Six, this time dressed in a fancy suit and hat took them by car. By the time they arrived, the station was swarming with reporters and their insect-like cameras trained directly on the tributes. He caught his reflection on one of the televisions and to his relief, appeared rather annoyed.

His partner on the other hand, looked downright angry. If looks could kill then all the Capitol reporters would be keeling over over left and right with the glares she had been shooting at them.

They stood for a few minutes in the doorway of the train while the cameras gobbled up their images. Blight snuck a sidelong glance at his partner, half-hoping for any sign she was on his side, but her only response was a snarl.

Then finally, yet too soon, the doorway opened and he took one step closer towards the Hunger Games.

* * *

**A/N Any recommendations for ideal updating times & days & frequency? Next chapter coming up: Meet the Competitors where we get to our other main players.**


	3. Chapter 3

  


Chapter 3: Meet the Competitors

**Coriolanus Snow, President of Panem**

His enemies called his park 'the garden of betrayal.'

_What a ridiculous name._

Coriolanus strolled purposefully down the white brick path over the bridge of a quiet koi pond to the rose-covered gazebo with his friend. There was never any betrayal, he just liked to hold his meetings of the more personal nature here, in the quiet and privacy.

He paused to take in one of the paper white roses nestled in the shrubbery and simply admire it. With white-gloved hands he carefully clipped the stem of the perfect bloom and inhaled the fragrant aroma, taking his time. Only when he was finished did he turn his attention to his companion who was waiting for him in the gazebo.

"You wanted to speak to me?" Marcus Randall was younger than the president, but faint crow's feet and grey hair peppered his naturally distinguished features. As the head of one of the most influential families in the Capitol, he had been well-aquainted with Coriolanus since childhood.

"Yes. About that 'little problem' that just won't go away." Coriolanus glowered at him.

"Ah you mean about that Paylor boy in District Eight."

" _Yes._ What do you plan on doing about him?"

"You know I've always wanted a son," he said wistfully. "Not that I don't love my daughters but really it takes a man to run the family business. Maybe I _could_ bring him to the Capitol and-"

"You will do no such thing!" Coriolanus roared, his face turning a ruddy shade of puce. "Do you know what would happen if that-that District-born bastard started meddling in our affairs?! You think you can raise him to be loyal to you? He's grown up in District Eight all his life being fed anti-Capitol propaganda by his whore mother, where do you THINK his loyalties lie?"

The younger man took a handkerchief from his pocket and started blotting his perspiring forehead. "Well I just thought-"

Coriolanus pointed an accusing finger less than an inch from his nose. "That's the problem! You don't think and that's why we're in this mess to begin with!"

He gulped and tried to edge away from the angry president. "The masses will surely forget about him with the upcoming Games... As much as they like scandal they're likely to move on once the Games begin and the boy will eventually become old news and we can move on, is that right Cori?"

The president took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yes. That's the plan. We can't have that Paylor boy asserting his birthright now, especially during these... uncertain times. Do you have word from your spies about the outside threats?"

As if on cue, a black-clad women dropped down in front of them from the ceiling of the gazebo, her identity hidden under a veil that covered her face except for her eyes. "Mr. Randell, Mr. President, team 093 dispatched a month ago has returned to discuss matters regarding the Hidden," she stated coolly.

If the two men were surprised by her sudden appearance they didn't show it. "Excellent, excellent, you're right on time." Coriolanus gave her a thin smile and got up from his seat.

**Raven Everdeen, District 12 Male**

They took a shortcut through the Seam, through the farthest seediest corner where hurrying outside they could hear bawdy songs being howled and liquor spilling inside badly-concealed winesinks amidst the roar of coarse slurs flying from the dice tables.

Back when his parents were alive they had made him promise to never set foot in that part of the Seam but after their death Raven had long since broke whatever promises he made in the name of staying alive.

Two brothers stepped into a ramshackle shed, pulling the filthy curtain back to enter. Coal dust wafted down from the fabric and settled on their hair and shoulders like pepper but they barely noticed their already dusty clothing getting even dustier.

"What have you boys got for me today? Be quick about it, I still need to take down wagers for the Reapings," a thin-faced sallow man snapped.

Raven pulled out a dozen fish, a bag of greens, and gallon of wild strawberries and set it on the counter.

The man swept a critical eye over the goods. "A hundred Gil."

"What? That's daylight robbery!" Raven protested. "A thousand Gil or we walk."

"Five hundred."

"Nine hundred."

"Eight hundred, and that's my final offer boy, I've got better things to do than argue with a couple of brats."

Raven snatched the money from the counter and stalked off with his brother on his heels.

"Eight hundred Gil? We could have made double that if we traded with the merchants," Robin protested.

Raven sighed and gently ruffled his younger brother's hair. "Yes but we don't have time to make our rounds to all the different stores, we have to get to the Reaping today."

"Oh." Twelve-year-old Robin suddenly became very quiet. "What do I do if they pick me?" he asked dolefully, his large grey eyes trained on his older brother.

"They won't Robin, it's your first reaping, your name's only in there three times, they aren't going to pick you." Raven said soothingly.

"They could!"

"They won't, ok? There are just too many names in there, the odds are it's going to be someone you don't even know."

"What if it's you? You have twenty slips."

Raven paused as a sinister voice in his ear whispered _what if what if what if…_ "Twenty isn't that much, some people have a lot more," he said firmly. It wasn't uncommon in District 12 for older teens to have entries in the forties or fifties if they had large families. Luckily, or unluckily, Raven only had his brother to take an additional tessera for.

They reached the lineup, and suddenly knots began forming in Raven's stomach. Despite his words he knew that he and his brother weren't safe, it worried him this year more than the others now that Robin's name was in there too.

Robin frowned, his sharp features fragile and bird-like, looking much younger than twelve. They inched forward slowly, watching mothers give their children a final hug, older siblings reassuring their younger ones that they'll be back, several handkerchiefs pulled out dabbing at tear-streaked faces.

And that was even before the escort even pulled out a name.

Raven felt Robin tense up and bent down next to his brother's ear. "It won't be us, I swear," he promised.

"Next," a female Peacekeeper called from the registration desk. All the Peacekeepers were dressed in their crisp white uniforms but had taken their helmets off today, idly patrolling the square or helping with the sign-in.

"It's time to sign in now. They're going to prick your finger just to take a little bit of blood."

"Will it hurt?"

"It doesn't hurt much, just a little. Come on Robin, be a man."

Robin approached the desk hesitantly and stuck out his hand, eyes clenched shut in anticipation.

"Robin Everdeen, twelve years old."

Robin winced and Raven quickly stepped up.

"Is that your brother?" the female Peacekeeper asked Raven with an amused smile as she pricked his finger. "I have a younger brother too back home, he should be around your age. Here." She slipped him some toffee from under the desk.

Raven gave her a wide smile. He couldn't remember the last time they had been able to afford candy. "Thank you."

She winked at him in reply. "Next!"

He hustled his brother into the square and showed him where his pen was.

"Ok, go stand down there with other twelve year olds until the Reaping starts. When it's over I'll come get you, alright?"

Robin nodded, jaws glued shut by the toffee. He began chewed through the dense sweets, then swallowed. "But Raven," he bleated plaintively, "what do I do if you get reaped? And don't say you won't because that's not true."

Raven sighed and crouched down to look his younger brother in the eye.

He took a deep breath and began the speech he knew he would have to make. "If, for some crazy reason the escort does pull my name out of the bowl, keep calm, don't cry, and don't make a fuss. And then while I'm away, be strong. Don't let the older boys pick on you. Do as you're told and don't give the matron an excuse to give you a whipping. Keep hunting but otherwise keep your head down and don't cause any trouble. Survive." He gave his brother one last hug and silently prayed that neither Everdeen would be reaped.

**Nikolaos "Niko" Egret, District Two Male**

"Make way for our man Niko!" Someone hollered.

His entire class whooped as he stepped into the train, clapping and cheering.

Niko smirked and raked his hand through his freshly-styled dark hair, allowing himself to bask in his fifteen minutes of fame. "Man, if you guys are this loud before I volunteer, what kinda noise are you gonna make when I win?"

"That's if you win." The designated female volunteer seemingly materialized next to him, glossed and buffed until she practically glowed. She twirled her long ponytail around her finger and struck a cocky pose.

Niko grinned and bumped fists with her in greeting, "Yo Tori, didn't see you there."

"Thanks." She grinned wolfishly.

He chose a seat next to the window and she slid next to him. Someone pulled a deck of cards out and began dealing for a game of seduce. Their academy was located far into the mountains, it would be hours before they even reached District 2's town square.

The train chugged along merrily at a steady pace while its passengers passed the time by with snacks and card games and general teenage idiocy. Niko passed the queen of spades, two of hearts and three of hearts to his left and popped back the tab a can of soda, a once a year treat for him. The can opened with a fizz and he took a sip, there was always a festive atmosphere during Reaping day, a true holiday because who in District 2 didn't look forward to the Hunger Games?

They had played several rounds before a loud noise followed by a sudden breeze that blew their cards off the table interrupted their game.

"What the hell?" Tori demanded and she scrambled to catch her cards.

"Fuck this, I'm swimming to the Reapings!"

One of their classmates had opened a window facing a glistening sea bordered with a chain link fence.

Everybody in the carriage laughed. "What, you want to be put on toilet duties for a month?" Tori called.

"Have you forgotten? I leave for shithole District Eleven tomorrow, the trainers can't do jack to me," the future Peacekeeper retorted. And with that he wiggled out the window and disappeared in a flash.

Niko and Tori watched him clamour up the fence, give them a thumbs up, and dive into the water.

"What a fucking idiot," Niko shook his head.

"Well, in his defence the train's so slow he'll probably make it there before us," Tori said.

And she was right. When they finally pulled up to the station an hour later, their sopping wet classmate was already there waiting for them with a triumphant grin on his face.

"You guys finally made it, man. I honestly thought you would never get here, could you imagine what would happen if there was a delay?"

"Yeah, everyone would probably be shitting their pants without us to volunteer. The escort might actually have to draw a name from the bowl," Niko said sarcastically. The District 2 teenagers laughed at the incredulousness of the idea.

"Oh yoo-hoo!" A woman in a glittering blue tutu and shimmering wings called, waving frantically.

"You think that's our escort this year?" Tori asked.

He wacked her shoulder. "No shit dumbass. Who else could it be, the fucking tooth fairy?"

The woman caught up to them, grinning from ear to ear. "You're Nikolaos and Victoria, this year's volunteers am I right? I could tell right away because you two really stood out from the crowd. You're both going to look so good on camera, oh I can't wait!" she squealed.

Niko and Tori exchanged amused glances with each other and kept walking. In less a second they had come to an agreement that their escort wasn't worth their notice.

"Wait, where are you going? I'll walk you to the square," she called after them, her heels click-clacking along the cobblestone road but she couldn't keep up with their long strides.

Niko paused, just for a second and glanced over his shoulder, his amber eyes flashing with arrogance and disdain.

"Piss off, pussycat."

**Sabine Delgado, District Six Female**

Sabine smoothed the front of her white silk dress, a gift for her seventeenth birthday. 'It'll match the pearl necklace daddy got you!' her mother had said when she had ripped it open the tissue paper and squealed in excitement.

She glanced nervously at the other girls to her left and right. Visible creases from hemlines let out several times, hastily sewn patches over threadbare sleeves, motor oil stains that couldn't be washed out with simple lye soap surrounded her. She was aware that she was probably the best-dressed tribute at the Reaping and felt suddenly felt ashamed for flaunting her family's wealth.

In her effort to avoid their judgemental glares her eyes scanned the stage until she saw her father sitting on his folded chair, arms folded across his chest chatting quietly with District Six's only other victor. She wondered what they were talking about, strategies? Sponsors? The arena this year?

All around her the girls were whispering quietly amoungst themselves too, wishing each other luck and the insincere "I hope you don't get picked," when they secretly hoped they would because it meant they could be safe for another year themselves. At least that was how Sabine would have felt.

Maybe that was why nobody liked her, she thought. Maybe deep down she was an evil selfish person who didn't deserve friends, but when it came right down to it she knew it was probably because everyone was afraid of befriending the victor's daughter in the chance that it would cause them to be reaped.

She tried to convince herself that it was alright, she had her father and her brother that she spent many happy hours with in the garage and at the racetrack racing vintage cars. And things would get better once she and her peers aged out and the fear of the Reaping was behind them, she reasoned.

Eventually the clock struck noon and the mayor stepped up to the mike to begin his speech, the same one he made every year. And then too soon it was the moment they had all been waiting for.

Sabine turned her eyes to the stage and held her breath as the escort dipped her hand into the bowl and withdrew a single slip, sealed with black tape. A wicked smirk blossomed across the escort's face and her eyes light up when she broke the seal and unfolded the slip. The crowd actually trembled in anticipation.

There was a pause as the entire square waited to hear the name she drew that she found so amusing and Sabine's heart thumped so loudly she was almost afraid she wouldn't be able to hear the escort's voice.

"Sabine Delgado."

_No!_

There was a sharp intake of breath from the square and a murmur ran through the crowd.

_"Sylvester's daughter eh?"_

_"Should have expected it, even though his son made it through."_

_"What were the chances though?"_

She imagined the bookies lurking behind the square were going ballistic at the announcement.

Immediately, the girls standing around her took a step back as if she had an infectious disease and an empty path to the stage appeared in front of her eyes.

An icy feeling washed over her spine and she turned around to see her mother collapse onto her older brother's shoulders while he rubbed her back, his shocked eyes never leaving hers. _I'm so sorry Sabs,_ his expression said.

Even though her entire body felt numb, she forced her body to take a few steps towards the stage and stared pleadingly into her father's eyes. She had been close to being free, but deep down she should have known it had been foolish to hope.

Victor's children have been in the arena before, it always generated lots of excitement and drama too frequently to be due to just chance. When her brother had survived his last Reaping, her grateful parents had practically fainted with relief.

Her father was a popular victor with the Capitol. Handsome, debonair, always polite and the perfect host whenever officials needed to stay over at District Six. He had done everything right, why would they punish him now? She could practically hear the commentators in the background whispering that the odds were not in her family's favour.

The escort asked for volunteers but the square was silent. Of course no one would take her place where in District Six volunteering was the equivalent of signing their own death sentence.

"Wait a minute!" her father stepped forward and grabbed the mike from the escort's hand. All eyes and cameras zoomed in on the handsome victor.

"I-I'll pay the family for any girl that volunteers any price, in full!" he pleaded.

Sabine stopped in her tracks and her heart surged with hope at his words. Maybe-maybe she wasn't doomed. But as her father's eyes desperately raked the crowd, begging for someone, anyone to step up, the truth hit her like a magnet train. Even though her father's wealth and status had protected her from most of the hardships of District Six, it couldn't buy her safety from the Hunger Games.

She saw the grim-faced Peacekeepers marching towards her and black spots began to swim into her vision. The last thing she could remember was her knees giving out and a Peacekeeper catching her by the arm.

**Tallulah "Tally" Cooper, District Five Female**

"Tallulah my baby!" Professor David Cooper sobbed as he clung onto his daughter tightly. He was kneeling on the floor so that he was at the same height of her on the sofa and the knees of his black dress pants were becoming quite dusty as his daughter's jacket was becoming quite wet.

"Dad stop," she squeaked as she tried to pry herself free from his vise-like grip, "I wanna talk to mom."

"How could they take away my precious daughter!" he howled in despair, his red beard soaked with tears.

"Dad!"

"Why? Why? Why couldn't I keep you safe?"

"DAD!"

"Pull yourself together David, we only have ten minutes!" His wife, Professor Delilah Cooper hissed as she forcibly extracted her daughter from her husband's arms. A stern, no-nonsense woman, she wore her sleek red hair in a tight bun and unbuttoned white lab coat over her clothes, intending to rush back to the labs after the Reaping.

She pushed her square-framed glasses up her nose and leaned towards her daughter's ear. "Listen Tally, you can bring one thing with you to the arena," she whispered urgently. "Your father and I have been working on this in the labs just in case you did get reaped," she dropped a necklace surreptitiously into the pocket of Tally's light jacket that she wore over her blue sun dress as her husband blubbered loudly in the background.

Tally stared at her mother dully, still stunned by the news of the Reaping. Her own hair was pulled up in a braid around her head, making her sharp facial features even more pointed. "But mom, you said I would never be Reaped."

"Well we prepared anyway," her mother hissed. "Just twist the three segments in the centre and it'll blow up everything within ten feet in thirty seconds."

"But mom," she protested "the Gamemakers won't let me bring a token like that!"

"Don't 'but mom' me at a time like this Tally, it's the damn best chance you have," she whispered furiously.

"It's time to go," a Peacekeeper called.

"Just another minute," her mother barked while her father bawled like a baby on the floor beside her.

"Sorry ma'am, but rules are rules." An entire group of white-clad Peacekeepers arrived and grabbed her parents by their arms to escort them out.

"Unhand us at once, I'll have you know that me and my husband are prominent department heads in Nuclear," Professor Delilah Cooper snapped. Her husband, one of the top minds in his field was still weeping beside her and not helping the case.

"Just following orders ma'am." The Peacekeeper sounded almost apologetic as he hauled the two scientists away.

"Oh for the love of- Remember Tally, we lo-!" her parents called before the door slammed shut and she was left completely alone.

Tally took a deep breath and turned over the necklace in her hands. It looked like just any other cheap necklace in District 5, big chunky beads held together with coarse wire. Oh but out of all the girls in District 5 why her? Her mother had said that no one from Nuclear had ever been reaped so why now? Tally got up from the sofa and began to pace, chewing her nails and thinking of a possible plan that would result in her being not dead. She could try to win the Games (unlikely) or-or she could…..

No. Tally shook her head. That option was just a rumour, like the Sand, the Smoke, and the Hidden.

Except, they weren't. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to put the pieces together like a chemistry equation in her head, manipulating the variables until the solution became clear. But no matter how hard she tried the answer wouldn't come.

In the end she didn't know what to do.

**Dexter Soo, 7 District Three Male**

He peeled off his urine-soaked slacks and glumly slipped on the pair of sweats Beetee had kindly found for him in his carriage. Dexter wasn't the first tribute in history to pee his pants when his name was called but he was still ashamed when he remembered the hundreds of cameras eagerly lapping up his embarrassing accident for the whole country to see.

With a heavy sigh he closed the door of his compartment and trudged back to where his partner and mentors would be waiting.

"So um, as I was saying, we've still got the momentum from last year's win and sponsors are still interested in supporting District 3, isn't that right Wiress?"

The teenage Victor of the 45th annual Hunger Games picked up a spoon, put it back down in her soup and shrugged sullenly.

Wiress brushed aside a hank of inky hair and slumped in her seat. "Do I really have to do this?"

"Yes you do," he said gently.

"So, er-" Beetee turned to the tributes. "Would you like to be coached together, or separately?"

Dexter glanced at the girl next to him. From the Reaping he had learned her name was Cabel and she shared the dark hair, dark almond-shaped eyes, and ashy skin as him and almost all of District 3. Right now she was studying him up and down, making her own appraisal.

"Together," they both said in unision.

"Alright then," Beetee pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Give me some idea of what you can do, let's start with you Dexter."

"I code video games for the Capitol," he muttered and ducked his head. "I don't think it'll do any good in the arena though-"

"Oh!" Cabel interrupted him. "I thought I've seen your name before, on the credits for the Hero Quest video games right?"

He looked up sharply. "Yeah, I was on the development team. You actually have a computer at home to play?" He studied her carefully, noticing her round cheeks and crisp dress. She must be from one of the wealthier families in Three, he realized. Just owning a computer was a sign of trust from the Capitol.

"I do, I love those games!" Her face broke into a wide grin. "I'm stuck at the level in the fire dungeon though, what do I do after I get the flamberge?"

"Remember the room with the moving tiles? If you use your sword to test the walls, you'll get to a section that sounds hollow. Use the flamberge to melt that section and you can access the rest of the dungeon," he explained.

She made a face at him. "Are you serious? How was I supposed to know that?"

Dexter shrugged. "I don't know, I don't write the storyline I just code."

"Well then," Beetee chuckled. "A programmer? I'd say it's a skill in itself, you don't know what the arena is yet but that still might be useful. Cabel, would you like to tell us what you can do?"

"Yes uncle," she began.

"Wait uncle?" Dexter gaped at them in shock. "You two are related?"

"I don't mean uncle in the family sense," Cabel said quickly, "Beetee is a friend of my parents and I know him from before, he helped me build a drone for my senior project, which is also my most worthwhile skill," she explained.

There was a lull in the conversation.

"Smart kids," Wiress whispered, which made everybody jump.

* * *

**A/N There will be a couple more noteworthy tributes but here's Blight's main competition! No one answered my question last chapter on how frequently I should update this story and on what days. If no one has an opinion I think I'll do weekly updates when I can.**


	4. Chapter 4

  


**Bobby Jean "Blight" Oakley District Seven Male**

They stepped inside the train and the first thing he noticed was the furniture. Blight didn't think it was possible but the interior of the train was even fancier than the room in the Justice Building.

As someone who had grown up surrounded by peeling wallpaper and moldy plaster, Blight gaped at the elegant wallpaper and plush carpet, wondering why on god's dang earth anyone would bother to decorate the inside of a moving vehicle.

Selphie the escort frowned as she tapped on her handheld phone. "Hmmm... according to my planner we should be having lunch at the dining compartment which is, um," she looked back and forth hesitantly.

Anya crossed her muscular arms and tapped her foot impatiently. "Just choose a direction lady."

Selphie glanced at Timothy and Ellie helplessly. "You two don't ah, happen to remember where it is do you?"

"Shouldn't this be your job?" Timothy grumbled, the lines of his face settling into a tired frown.

She bit her lip and rubbed her hands apologetically. "Yes, but it's my first year and you two have been doing it for what, fifty years?"

Blight and Anya stared. "The Games have only been going on for forty-five years," Anya said slowly as if speaking to a child, and a really dim-witted one at that.

"Right, that's what I meant, um-"

"S'over here," Ellie led the way, all snow-white hair and wrinkles in a tartan dress like a grandmother herding sheep. They followed her through a door into a carriage with a table groaning under an assortment of dishes.

"Ah, yes it is," Selphie clapped in delight and slid into a seat.

Blight slid next to her, wondering how someone so straight-up inept managed to become an escort. Maybe nobody in the Capitol wanted the job and they were forced to take whoever they could get, who knows?

He glanced down at the array of dishes in front of him and his stomach churned, not in a good way. It was all too colourful, too rich and too foreign. _If I eat this stuff I'm gonna be spewin' spicy chunks,_ he winced in disgust.

Blight thought longingly of his mother's homemade cooking, grits, biscuits, and gravy, cockatrice, all boringly dull-coloured foods that was familiar and comforting. He wondered what his family was doing right now, would they be eating the jello, feeling it taste like sawdust with him gone?

Anya evidently had no qualms however, judging by the way she dug in with gusto.

He looked up to face his mentors. Ellie opened a packet of some kind of white powder and stirred it absentmindedly into a glass of water while Timothy had decided to drink a bottle of liquor without bothering with a wineglass. Blight couldn't blame him, in the Sticks men commonly joked that 'happiness came straight from the bottle, because sometimes real life was too hard to swallow,' while knocking back mugs of bootleg liquor brewed in someone's bathtub.

"So tell us about yourselves," Selphie said encouragingly and nodded vigorously at the tributes until her wig came undone at the back and she scrambled for some hairpins.

"Well my partner's obviously a redneck," Anya coughed and eyed him in disdain. "Sorry, not sorry."

A surge of anger flashed through his body and he bristled, partly because what she said was true. But so what if she was right? She didn't have to say it like _that_ , as if he could be summed up with just a single word. Blight leaned back in his chair casually and tugged the brim of his cap over his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm a redneck," he drawled and spat a wad of saliva on the ground, much to the distaste of his escort and partner. "Deal with it."

"Well I'm one of the lumberjacks, and I have been ever since I was old enough to hold an ax. I can take down trees faster than any man, and I'm sure other tributes won't be any different as long as I have an ax in my hands," Anya declared. "Only one person can win and you guys are going to have to choose which of us you're going to help. I think between me and redneck-hillbilly here it's pretty obvious which one of us has the better chance."

Blight was both disgusted and fascinated at how she managed to speak and shovel food into her mouth at the same time. It was like a typical meal at the Oakley's, only crammed into one person.

Selphie's eyes darted between her and Blight. "Well I'm sure we'll do our best to help you both get as far as possible, as far as choosing goes we'll just have to see who gets further in the Games."

Anya gave a snort. "Whatever. So tell us how to win," she demanded, turning to their mentors.

"Mmm, after my nap dearie," Ellie said distantly, with a dreamy on her wrinkled face. "Better off asking Tim-Tim for help." Blight did the math in his head and Ellie couldn't be that much older than sixty. So how did she look so goddamned old?

Timothy swirled the last of the liquor in the bottle sadly. "Aw Elly-belly why d'you always gotta make me do all the work?" he said in a hang-dog voice, his droopy jowls and rheumy eyes giving him the look of a perpetually depressed basset hound.

Selphie's eyes darted between the two past victors and Blight could practically see the disappointment through the frozen smile on her face. Hell, he was pretty disappointed with his mentors too. They played the role of the tributes' lifelines sending life-saving gifts, but sitting with the stupored man and woman in front of him he suddenly knew why District Seven hadn't had a victor in decades.

"Erm," Selphie chewed her lip and tried to salvage the situation. "Well, why don't we watch the recaps? Try to get a feel for your competition this year?" she suggested brightly.

It was probably the best idea she had made all day, Blight thought. She reached for the remote, knocking over a pitcher of water onto Ellie's lap.

"Oh I'm so sorry," she gasped and tried grabbed a stack of napkins to blot.

"S'okay dearie," Ellie slurred, eyes already half-shut, "just leave it be."

Luckily an attendant materialized from seemingly out of nowhere and hurriedly turned on the television for them before carrying Ellie away to be cleaned up.

Blight and Anya turned their attention to the screen, watching the tributes from One step forward. Volunteers, as expected from districts One, Two and Four as long as Blight could remember. He made note of a few tributes who stood out in his mind. The boy from Three who had wet his pants when his name was called, a shocked redhead from Five, the girl from Six whose father was a previous victor, and then his own expression of disbelief. As the Reapings went by they couldn't help but notice that the other districts had also introduced new escorts. By the time they got to their own district, they noticed something else.

"It's all older teens," Blight remarked, watching tribute after tribute only have to walk a few steps to the stage from the front of the crowd. It honestly shouldn't be surprising given that older tributes had more entries in the Reaping bowl, but the Games usually had one or two twelve-year-olds and a wider variety of ages to keep things interesting.

Anya crossed her arms and grunted. "Yeah, and everyone looks like they've actually been fed properly this year."

Blight watched as the Reapings finished with the boy from Twelve, a tall olive-skinned youth with lightly muscled arms, his jaw clenched with determination standing next to his curvy blonde counterpart.

He knew what she meant, the usual non-volunteers were gaunt, skeletal wisps who wore hollow and defeated expressions as if they were ready to just die right then and there. But for some reason this year all the tributes looked downright healthy. Even Blight had to admit that although he was skinny, it was more of a hardened leanness from a high protein and carb diet. And although he had no skill or training with weapons, he was passably in-shape from digging holes and planting trees from sun-up to sun-down.

His initial thought was that maybe the Reapings had been rigged, but quickly shook the thought out of his head. That was crazy, something that Lester would have thought, and crazy thoughts only led to more crazy thoughts until one day he was telling anybody who would listen how dew on the grass was painted on by tiny invisible men.

"Looks like we're gonna have a hell of a time this year," he remarked to Anya when the commercials rolled.

" _We_?" she rolled her eyes with disdain. "I don't know what you're doing once the Games start, but let me tell you this, I don't plan on teaming up with some hillbilly from the _Hicks_." She spat out the last word and shuddered in contempt.

Blight couldn't say he was surprised by her animosity but was disappointed all the same. He had been holding onto a thread of hope that the macho-lumberjack girl would be his ally, they were district partners after all and tributes coming from the same districts usually worked together, or well, tried not to kill each other until near the end at least. But given the surly death-glares Anya had been shooting at him, maybe he really shouldn't have been surprised.

"Are you feeling unwell Bobby Jean?" Selphie asked with concern. "You've barely touched your food."

He looked down at the slimy, smelly, too-bright foods in front of him and pushed the plate away. "Yeah, I ain't feelin' too hungry right about now," he mumbled.

"I'll show you to your assigned compartment then, I know it's just the opposite direction that we came in," she said eagerly, glad to finally be able to do something useful. She stood up too fast and the chair behind her clattered to the floor.

She cringed and quickly straightened the chair. "Oops."

As he followed her out the door, the Capitol anthem blared behind him "-and this is the moment of victory!" Claudius Templesmith's voice roared over the sound of scattered applause. He glanced behind him to see the recap of the scrawny girl from Three mumbling intelligibly, holding her knees to her chest and rocking back and forth while the final tributes succumbed to poison. It was a very anticlimactic ending to an already boring Games, apparently the Head Gamemaker last year was being replaced and they would be getting a new one this year. Blight didn't know if it was a good or bad thing, but decided it was something worth finding out as he followed Selphie out the compartment and into his luxurious tribute's quarters.

.

His chambers included a bedroom, a dressing area, and a private bathroom with running hot and cold water and a toilet. The first thing he did was wander inside the gleaming bathroom, the white porcelain chair in the corner catching his eye. He had seen toilets on television but had never actually seen one in reality, outhouses and bushes were what he was used to back home.

He unzipped his pants and stepped in front of the toilet cautiously and did his business. The next step was to pull the lever on the side, which would replace the waste with clean water somehow. He reached for the lever curiously, then pulled it down. The toilet roared to life, the whooshing sound of the flush was surprisingly loud and Blight jumped in fright, running out of the bathroom and ducking behind a chair. When he felt it was safe, he crept out and re entered the bathroom hesitantly. He peered into the toilet, amazed at how clear the water was, it was like he hadn't even used it.

Deciding it was probably safe to use the bath too, he peeled off his clothes and carefully turned a tap. He jumped when a light rain above him sputtered to a start. He turned another tap and a glob of pink shampoo landed right on his head. Blight touched it cautiously with his fingers, then sniffed the pink goo. It smelled like roses. The Capitol sure had a funny way of taking a bath.

When he was done he dried off with a towel and crouched in bed, sinking slightly in the too-soft mattress. Being used to falling asleep in a lawn chair outside, the soft bed felt completely alien. Blight shifted from side to side until he was less uncomfortable and reached for a familiar item, the television remote. The flat-screen wall to wall television flickered to life to show Isaac Paylor, looking wounded as he described his fatherless childhood.

"My mum, she really struggled to get by on her own. She told me that my father died in a factory accident before I was born, and I never questioned it."

"When did you find out the truth?" a reporter asked.

"Just a few weeks ago, when I turned nineteen. My mum waited until I had aged out to tell me, she knew this media firestorm would start up when I found out so she waited until I was out of the Reapings. You bet my father would have pulled strings to get me in the arena to get rid of me, well that's not going to work." He gave the camera rude gesture. "Even if he killed me now and made it look like an accident, no one would believe him!"

Blight started to dry his hair with the blanket and changed the channel to a commentary of this year's Games and speculation about the theme for the arena.

"So over the past decade we've had lets see, a forest, a swamp, a graveyard, and an archipelago," a man with the largest pair of glasses he had ever seen stated in a nasally voice. "Around every five games the Game Makers do favour a more industrialized arena to a natural one, that's my guess. _Fufufufufu_..." Even his laugh was painful.

A panel of statisticians and analysts stepped up with their own spreadsheets and tried to come up with a pattern or trend to predict various features. Blight sat up straighter and turned the volume up. _Now_ _who cares about some dang ol' Capitolite's bastard? This stuff's what I want to know._

* * *

Blight was still thinking about the arena when his prep team was clucking over the poor state of his tragically coarse hair, face, and body. In Blight's opinion the primping and prepping in the remake centre involved far too many scents and lotions, it made the rose-scented shampoo seem like rubbing a horsepat in his hair in comparison.

A trio of what appeared to be colourful high-pitched birds spent two agonizing hours waxing his body, trimming his hair, whitening his teeth, and shaving off his scraggly moustache before disappearing to get his stylist, the supposedly genius Cornelius. They hadn't spoken a word to him at all and preferred to chatter amoungst themselves about which pre-games parties they were invited to, which parties they didn't want to go to, and which they planned to crash. Not that he minded, he wouldn't have known what to say even if they did invite him to join the conversation.

Blight grabbed his hat from the edge of his table and jammed it on his head to think. In a few days he was about to go into the arena to fight for his life, and things like the parade, interviews and training scores were completely meaningless in terms of helping his survival. Judging by the state of his mentors and escort he decided that he couldn't be counting on them getting him sponsor gifts anyway, so he planned to just get through the frivolous events and focus his efforts on the training.

He was perched on the edge of the prep table swinging his legs idly when the door opened suddenly and an elderly man who must have been his stylist walked, well more like skipped in.

Blight gave a yelp of surprise, genuinely taken aback at how bizarre he looked. Green scales, yellow fangs and slit-like eyes, it appeared as if he had fused his body with a snake's.

"What is that on your head?! I thought I demanded that my canvas be naked!" Blight was fully expecting to hear a hiss, but his stylist's voice was high-pitched and girlish.

He took off his hat slowly and set it aside.

"Now that's better." The snake-man observed him from all angles, taking in every square inch with his eyes, _like a snake eyeing a dang ol' mouse he's planning on having for dinner_ , Blight thought and shuddered at the mental image.

"As you know, it is customary to reflect the flavour of the district, and District Seven has been dressing up almost exclusively as trees for the preliminary parade," he began.

Blight cocked his head. Would they have something actually different this year?

"... so this year, me and my partner have decided on apple trees," Cornelius squealed, clapping his hands excitedly.

"Why? There ain't no apple trees in District Seven," Blight protested.

"Oh of course there are you silly little goose," he tutted. "Everybody knows you grow all sorts of trees in the lumber district," he shook his finger disappointedly at him like a scolding schoolteacher.

"There's a whole lotta of difference 'tween fruit trees and lumber trees, District Eleven's the one that grows apples."

"Oh my silly little goose, you just can't see that you're wrong and I'm right," Cornelius preened. "One does not simply contradict a genius such as myself."

"But it's true," Blight argued. "Fruit trees hardly give any wood and they spread faster than a jackrabbit on moonshine and-."

"Hup hup hup! Not another word." His stylist ignored him and held a manicured finger to Blight's lips, his pointed green fingernail almost drawing blood. "Not until you see the masterpiece."

.

After several hours of re-measuring, struggling, and fitting, he was dressed in possibly the second stupidest outfit in District Seven history, the first being the time the tributes were wrapped in bark.

He was a tree. Literally stuffed inside an apple tree.

On one hand, he knew he looked ridiculous with nothing but his head and arms poking out through the trunk of his costume, but on the other hand he had to admit he was impressed by the incredible craftsmanship. Everything about it, the scent, the feel was exactly like an authentic tree. Just out of boredom and curiosity, he picked an apple off a low-hanging branch and took a bite. _Well I'll be,_ he thought _, it's a real honest to goodness apple!_

Blight continued to munch on his apple when his partner dressed in an identical tree was heaved onto the chariot as well. He gave her a sarcastic wave and she glowered at him in return. He wondered if she ever smiled. _Probably not_ , he reasoned, her face might actually break.

Looking around Blight noticed several figures dressed in all black with a veil concealing their faces as well, a colour that would normally make them disappear in the dark but made them stand out in the colourful stylists, escorts and any hanger-ons. He would have brushed it off as some Capitol trend if it wasn't for the way they stood, ramrod straight, arms behind their back, wearing solemn expressionless faces.

"Who are they?" He asked.

"Hmm?" Selphie who had been busy waving to a friend in the crowd turned around in confusion.

Blight pointed to the black figures positioned around the chariots.

"Oh, they're the Capitol's Special Operations Police."

"Y'mean like the Peacekeepers?" he asked stupidly.

She laughed and shook her head, "No, the Capitol's Special Assassination and Tactical Squad is completely different from the Peacekeepers in the Districts. They're covert operatives dispatched by the President himself, hand-picked for their individual capabilities and special skills. The Special Ops protect the country from exceptional threats and conduct high-risk missions into the Districts and unknown territory."

She leaned down to whisper into his ear, "They are also responsible for carrying out assassinations, tracking, surveillance, and missions requiring specially trained agents. They serve as interrogators that probe the minds of enemies to the country. Because the Special Ops are so vital to the Capitol's operations, they can't be arrested by regular Peacekeepers without a warrant. I'm sleeping with one right now but don't tell anyone I told you." She gave him a sly wink.

"If they're so top-secret why're they all out here?"

Selphie bit a long lacquered nail and looked around nervously. "I don't know if I should really be telling you this, but lately there's been some… _strange things_ going on in the Capitol."

"Strange things? What do you- yikes!" Blight wanted to ask her more, but then the anthem blared and he felt the chariot jerk and nearly fell backwards.

The opening music began and massive doors slid open revealing the cheering crowd-lined streets. The tributes from District One rode out first in a chariot pulled by snow-white horses. They were resplendent, dressed in a white gown and tuxedo that sparkled from microscopic diamonds stitched in the cloth. Blight could hear the roar of the crowd even from the stables, they were always one of the favourites.

District Two followed, then Three, Four, Five.

Before he knew it, the District Seven carriage pulled out with a lurch. Blight gawked at the dyed skin, tall wigs and freakishly mutilated bodies and shuddered. It was like going straight into a nightmare.

He kept his eyes focused on the large television screens which flicked through the tributes as they passed. Apparently this year District Two stole the show with their army fatigues holding machine guns that fired clouds of glitter that danced into the air before dissolving.

"District Two!" "Nikolaos and Victoria!" The crowd cheered.

Blight had to admit, they already looked like winners, laughing and playing up to the crowd. It was no wonder they always had so many sponsors and received so many gifts, he thought sourly. But then again, it could also be due to the fact the District Two mentors were actually capable of helping them, unlike his own team who were the goddamn definition of useless.

The festivities wound down and President Snow, a small, thin man with snow-white hair, gave the official welcoming speech from up above the balcony of the Presidential Mansion.

"Welcome welcome." He held up his arms and the crowd cheered.

"Tributes, we welcome you, we let you into our Capitol and into our hearts. For Forty-five years your countrymen have fought for us, suffered for us, and died for us so that we may never again face the devastation of war. We salute your courage and your sacrifice."

Everybody clapped dutifully, tributes included.

His speech went on for a few more minutes and Blight shifted uncomfortably on his feet, feeling his back and neck ache from the weight of the tree. Finally, the president ended with, "We wish you a happy Hunger Games and may be odds be ever in your favour!" And with that, the initial debut of the tributes was concluded.

"Well that went well, didn't it?" Cornelius asked when they returned and helped Blight out of his costume.

"Yeah sure," he grumbled, "did us a whole lotta good," he grunted. Even if they had spectacular costumes that made a splash and won over everybody in the Capitol, it still wouldn't mean the difference between life and death.

When Cornelius and Selphie helped him out of his tree he looked up and thought he saw one of the shadowy figures pull out an envelope and slip it furtively into the pocket of a women with tall green hair. He blinked, then rubbed his eyes and they disappeared.

_Huh, strange._

* * *

**A/N Ask you you shall receive. As a guest reviewer suggested I'll update weekly on Saturdays if I can :). I crammed a lot of pregames stuff quickly into one chapter, I find the pregames boring honestly, and I wanna get into the action as quickly as possible XD. The bloodbath and Games start on Chapter 7. The Special Operations Police was totally based of the Anbu from Naruto.**


	5. Chapter 5

  


**Bobby Jean "Blight" Oakley District Seven Male**

The head trainer stiffled a yawn and glanced at his watch. Almost ten, time to get the ball rolling. He looked up and did a quick head count before glancing boredly at the laminated speech attached his clipboard.

"Welcome to to your first day of training, experts in each skill will remain at their stations. You are free to travel from area to area as as you choose, per your mentor's instructions. Some of the stations teach survival skills, others fighting techniques. You are forbidden to engage in any combative exercise with another tribute. There are assistants on hand if you want to practice with a partner," he droned in a monotone. "Any questions?" There were none so he continued reading off his script.

When he began to read down the list of skill stations Blight's eyes flitted around the room to size up his competition. First were the Careers, the strongest tributes from One, Two and Four who seemed to to be at ease with each other and chatting amongst themselves while ignoring the head trainer. ("Your names are actually Shampoo and Cologne?! Like seriously, what's up with District One?" the girl from Two hooted.)

Then were the tributes from the poorer districts, unskilled and untrained yet no snivelling children but confident and determined adults. Maybe it was the prep work from yesterday and the good food but the other tributes looked even more hale and healthy up-close in person than during their Reapings on television.

And lastly there was him. He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror on the wall, tall and lanky, by no means well-built or attractive but a straightness in his posture and determination on his face. He had long decided that when the Games started he wasn't going to just lie down and die, he planned on fighting every step of the way. One person won every year, and this year it could be him. _No, it's_ gonna _be me,_ he corrected himself.

"Well, that's all folks, have at it." The head trainer had finally read through the procedures and was finished with the obligatory introductions. He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head back as if he was ready to take a nap.

The tributes dispersed and the first station Blight headed to was the archery station. He had promised his mother he would try to get his hands on a bow, but seeing the elegantly curved weapons made him realize how different they were from the rifles he had grown up shooting with. The attendant manning the station walked him through stringing a bow and positioned his hands for his first shot.

"Alright, now you just let go of the string and poof, the arrow goes flying."

Blight frowned, not seeing how the arrow could possibly go that far when he was still holding it. He pushed it out with his thumb just before letting go of the string and the arrow tumbled out clumsily, landing at his feet.

"Pfft, did you see that Tori?"

He turned around to see the girls from One and Two falling over with laughter. His cheeks burned but he turned back to the target, determined to try again.

The attendant handed him another arrow along with some advice that the string and arrow were supposed to be released at the same time.

He clenched his teeth as he angled the arrowhead in front of the target and pulled back the string.

The arrow sprang from the bow, whizzing straight and clean... up into the ceiling.

"Hey Seven, leave some arrows for us, we wanna practice too," the girl from Two called as she twirled a bow in her hands and got into position beside him.

"Don't let them get to you, it's only trash talk," the attendant whispered.

Blight nodded and ignored the Career's taunting as he fired off arrow after arrow skimming the arm, leg, finger, but mostly straight past the dummy never hitting a single vital point. Sweat beaded on his forehead and down his face as he clenched his teeth and tried to focus on nothing but the target.

He risked a peek at the girls from One and Two next to him, who had neatly speared every bulls-eye on their dummies with arrows to spare. When he realized how dismal his own efforts were he slumped his shoulders in defeat. _This is darned impossible!_ he thought as he threw his bow on the ground in frustration.

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about," the attendant whispered. "Everybody in the Capitol knows they have years of practice to master weaponry, but given that you only have three days well... maybe you should give the other stations a try."

He was right, Blight realized. He had already spent an hour at this skill and the only thing he learned was that he had zero talent for it. _If only they had guns, I would show them,_ he thought angrily.

As he walked away, he saw from the corner of his eye the boy from Twelve taking his place. The boy from Twelve picked up a bow, strung it without assistance from the attendant and fired, his arrow embedding itself right in the centre of the dummy's forehead. The girls from One and Two stopped to stare, and they weren't laughing then.

_Beginners luck_ , Blight thought sourly.

Blight spent the rest of the morning trying his hand at the other weapons, mainly the sword, the spear, the mace, but carefully avoided the axes where Anya was throwing double-headed throwing axes with ferocious accuracy. He actually had to stop and watch her as she beheaded dummy after dummy, grudgingly impressed. He couldn't help but notice the Gamemakers and a few other tributes watching her too. Unlike him, she would probably have no trouble finding allies.

.

Before he knew it, lunch time had arrived. All the tributes ate together in a windowless cafeteria, serving themselves from carts in the centre of the room. He filled his tray with food he still probably couldn't stomach and peered around the dining area hesitantly, wondering where to sit.

The Career tributes had gathered rowdily around one table and were boisterously one-upping each other's tales of their feats of skill, interrupting and talking over one another.

Even on the first day he could see the alliances forming, the tributes from Three and Five were huddled together deep in discussion, more intellectual than brawny. It was a sharp contrast to his partner dining with the boys from 9 and 10, all large enough to rival the Careers. The pretty girls from Eight and Twelve ate daintily together, no doubt planning to use their good looks over lack of any other skill. The rest of the tributes sat alone and so did Blight, taking a seat at the edge of the room.

He turned his attention to his food, taking only a sip and nibble here and there. The red drink was so sweet it made his teeth itch, the foreign soup was at once too sour and spicy, and the chicken was coated in a slimy cream sauce. He practically gagged at his meal and pushed it away in favour of the familiar breadbasket perched in the centre of the table.

Luckily they had his district bread, a hearty ring of dark rye topped with toasted pine nuts which had been his breakfast dinner and lunch so far in the Capitol, the only item of food he had been able to keep down. Judging by the way the other tributes were gorging themselves, everybody else had no such problems. He supposed that he was probably the only tribute that might actually lose weight between the Reaping and the arena.

Picking up the bread, he took a deep whiff, suddenly feeling homesick. He wondered, what his family was doing back at home. Would they still be arguing in front of the blaring television until their neighbours hollered at them to shut the hell up? Would Milly and Cody make a truce while he was gone? Would baby Jakey even remember uncle Blight or would he just be a story Jessie Ann would tell one day? Suddenly Blight didn't feel hungry anymore.

He got up and picked up the tray to throw away his untouched meal, but just as he was turning around he accidentally knocked into the broad chest of the boy from Four.

" _Que paso_?" he murmured in amusement as his previously white shirt was soaked through with Blight's lunch, staining it a deep red.

"Uhhhhh….." Blight's mouth felt as dry as sandpaper. Caught red-handed in front of the huge Career his heart raced, and he began to see his life flash in front of his eyes. Blight wondered briefly what would happen if a tribute died before reaching the arena. Would the Gamemakers quietly replace them?

But to his surprise, the boy from Four didn't seem angry at all and laughed as he pulled his off his shirt and tossed it into the trash. "What's with that face _amigo_? I'm not going to hurt you, you just gave me an excuse to show off my nice body. It's real toned, _esta bien_?" He slapped his muscular and firm abdomen with his hands, most likely due to the result of many hard hours of swimming and training.

Blight managed to regain control of his muscles somewhat and nodded dumbly, his eyes not leaving the Career's face in case he suddenly changed his mind.

The girl from Four swaggered over and rolled her eyes, twirling a strand of wavy brown hair around her finger. "You're lucky Marlin's a nice guy _chico_ , if it were me I would have ripped your head right from your shoulders," she said casually and with a wicked smile.

She narrowed her dark brown eyes and took his face in her hands. "Of course, there's no one watching right now..." she purred.

Suddenly Blight felt a lot more sympathetic for the boy from Three during the Reapings.

"Marlin! Tiki! Are you guys coming or what?" The boy from Two barked from the doorway of the cafeteria, causing all three of them to jump.

"We're coming, we're coming," Marlin waved at him cheerfully. "We just wanted to have some fun with our buddy from Seven eh?" he winked at Blight.

Tiki released her hold on Blight's face reluctantly. "We'll let you live, for now," she hissed as she and her partner stalked off to meet the other Careers. At the doorway she turned around one last time to make a swiping motion across her throat.

Blight gulped decided to change his pants before going back to the gymnasium.

.

He had barely managed to stagger back to the District Seven apartment when he heard Sephie's tittering coos from the open door. It turns out that she had forgotten to close the door behind her when she came in, which Blight did with an annoyed shove.

"Oh that's terrible darling!" she cooed into her handheld phone, either ignoring or not hearing Blight come in.

"Oh yes, don't I know! Mmm hmm. Yes I'm reading the news now."

She had her back to Blight so he snuck by, slipping into his room and swapping his soiled pants and underwear for fresh ones.

Blight had no idea how long a normal phone conversation was supposed to last in the Capitol but Selphie was still murmuring sympathies when he snuck past her through the door again. He took one last look at the back of her head before he stepped out. _Sheesh, what the heck could be so interesting?_

The next morning over breakfast, (during which both mentors had their heads down almost drowning in their oatmeal) Selphie plopped into her seat and let out a dramatic sigh. She snuck a peek at Blight and Anya, hinting that they should ask her what was wrong but both of them stared ahead resolutely, chomping through their respective breakfasts as if determined to ignore her.

"Did you read the paper yesterday?" she asked.

Anya snickered. "Yeah right, as if redneck-hillbilly here can read."

Blight flushed and instinctively rubbed the back of his neck. "I can read fine thank you very much, I just don't like to on account of how dang small the print is!" he snapped. The truth was that far-sightedness ran in his family. There was no problem with his ability to read as long as he could make out the letters, it just took him a bit more time and squinting than the normal person.

"My boytoy's worried about the future management of the Special Ops," Selphie continued as if they hadn't spoken. "They're headed by the Randall's, and by legally it's the first-born child by blood that inherits leadership. Egeria has been groomed to lead but she's a shade younger than this Isaac Paylor who only popped out of the woodwork just now. It'll be _such_ a big mess if he really can prove his claim."

She laid a lily-white hand across her lily-white forehead and sighed. "Can you imagine? Being bossed around by a District-born bastard? Oh the thought of it makes my boytoy ill!"

Blight perked up at that. "If that Paylor guy does become head what can he do? Y'think he could stop the Hunger Games?" His heart jumped hopefully at the thought of a last minute announcement that the Games were cancelled and he was free to go home. "How soon's his pa gonna take the paternity test?"

Selphie shook her head and gave him a wan smile. "There's no law saying a man _has_ to take a paternity test whenever someone claims he's their father. At this point it's just how much media pressure he can take before he can't just ignore it. And no dear, no one can stop the Hunger Games so eat up and hurry on down to training, you've got a big, big, big, day ahead of you."

.

Compared to his encounter with the District Four tributes his next two days passed by unremarkably. Blight spent his time flitting from weapon to weapon, desperately trying to find something he was good at but to no avail. He thought he had made some headway in the knots and snares station but next to the girl from Eight who managed to set up elaborate webs and traps he realized his best work was barely a few feeble tangles and left in frustration.

In his desperation, he even tried the axes, a weapon everybody expected him to be adept with even though the tool was as unfamiliar to him as it was to the girl from Six who nearly beheaded herself on her first swing. "Is this really your first time with an ax?" The attendant, less kind than the one at the archery station asked with amusement.

"Not everybody from Seven's a lumberjack," he mumbled defensively. "If you want trees to cut down, someone has to plant them up and you don't need axes for that."

"So what do you guys use then?" the attendant asked.

Blight paused to watch the girl from Six, panting with exertion and no longer able to lift even the lighter axes without her arms trembling. _She's probably more hopeless than me._

"Shovels and spades, mostly."

The attendant laughed. "Don't worry, those actually do show up in the arena sometimes. Tributes have used them to bludgeon others to death. I remember this one guy actually tried to bury the body too." He snorted and struggled to catch his breath. "Sorry, it's just, his face when the hovercraft came down and grabbed the body from the ground, that was just too hilarious."

As he bent over and clutched his sides with laughter, Blight and the girl from Six exchanged glances of disgust and mutual dislike.

"That's not funny!" the girl from Six exclaimed.

"Yes it is," the attendant was still chuckling. "T-the claw just pfft, plucked him up from the ground like a daisy."

She glared at him in return and turned her face away. "There's nothing funny about having to fight to the death for _nothing."_ She said it so softly that only Blight could hear.

He had been leaning against the railing that bordered the station and nearly slipped. The girl from Six who had a victor father, he tried to remember her name but couldn't, had just said out loud what everybody knew but wasn't allowed to say.

Intrigued, Blight studied her carefully. Thick light brown hair, fair unburned skin, she was pretty in a high-class kind of way, the kind of girl who wouldn't give him the time of day in District Seven. Right now her long eyelashes framed her narrowed eyes and perfectly glossy pout. He didn't realize he had been staring until her eyes met his and she began walking towards him.

"My name is Sabine," she declared in a voice like she was giving a report in school. "My favourite colour is pink. I'm scared of spiders. When I was little I wanted to be a racecar driver in the Capitol."

"Errrr…" _Why's she tellin' me all this bullcrap?_ He squinted at her suspiciously, wondering if it was a trap.

"When you see me in the arena, will you really kill me?" Her beautiful clear eyes pleaded with him, and suddenly Blight understood what she was doing. By trying to appeal to his humanity she was making herself a real person, not just another faceless opponent associated with a gender and number.

It was actually quite clever and for a second he wondered if her father told her to do it. But he quickly stopped feeling impressed and started feeling angry when he realized she was just playing mind tricks on him to get an edge over him before the Games.

Blight tried to pull the brim of his cap over his eyes to avoid her pleading face but remembered that his hat was with his stylist.

"What, you think just cause I know yer name it means I ain't interested in livin' no more? One person wins the Games each year and this year, I want it to be me."

Her expression seemed to fall but Blight simply turned away. "Fair warnin' District Six, if y'see me in the arena you better scram. Cause if that's what it takes to win I'm gonna be killin'."

* * *

**A/N At Joseph611: When I read your review I thought I'd PMed you or something while I was high but I checked my outbox and I never contacted you? Thanks for your interest though! I'm on holiday now and have more time to write. I might do 2 updates a week Saturdays and Wednesday during my Christmas break.**

**Question: If this story was boring and predictable who do you think will ally with Blight?**


	6. Chapter 6

  


Chapter 6 Scores and Interview

**Bobby Jean "Blight" Oakley District Seven Male**

Blight crossed his arms and slumped in his seat on the luxurious sitting room sofa, almost sinking into the burgundy cushions. A silky tassel slapped him in the face and he brushed it aside irritably, dreading the results of the individual scores. Their mentors were nowhere to be seen which wasn't unusual.

So far he hadn't seen them outside of mealtimes and even then they were so out of it they might as well not be there at all. _Just as well, it ain't like they were going to be any help once he was in the arena either,_ he scowled and thought dejectedly.

"Oh dear, I seem to have lost my phone," Selphie murmured, peering under cushions in concern. She was dressed in what she called a "casual outfit" consisting of a skintight catsuit, latex gloves and black combat boots. Suddenly she bent over too far and a loud rip tore through the air. She yelped and clutched her rear end which was now split open and revealing her hot pink underpants.

Anya muttered a rude suggestion of where she should look for it but Selphie was either too distressed by her wardrobe malfunction to notice or purposely ignored her.

A faint buzzing noise interrupted them and Blight could feel something vibrating underneath his thigh.

"Oh thank goodness!" Selphie dove for it and pulled out the phone from under the cushions. As soon as it was in her hands she began swiping in all directions. She frowned when the phone wasn't responding but then realized it was because of the gloves she was wearing and hastily took them off.

"I've been talking you two up to everybody I can, trying to get some potential sponsors," she said brightly. "In fact, I have a meeting with... er... I seem to have missed it." She frowned at her phone. "Well, I'll get the next one, how do you two think you did at the scoring session?" she asked hopefully.

Both tributes simply grunted in reply.

An awkward silence stretched across the room's endless forest-painted wallpaper and Selphie chewed her lip hesitantly.

"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't catch that, what did you say?"

Anya rolled her eyes. "Get the hint lady, we don't want to talk to you."

"Oh." Selphie seemed to deflate in her seat and in spite of how badly he thought of her Blight found himself feeling sorry for their escort. Sure she was clueless and clumsy, and any of her badly-executed attempts at helping them get sponsors was probably wouldn't amount to so much as a cracker but unlike their mentors she was actually trying, and Blight decided that it had to count for something.

"I threw some knives and matched some berries," he mumbled. "Didn't do too well in either though." A gloomy cloud settled over his head as he remembered how the knives had clattered to the floor well before reaching the target and the computer had lit up like christmas as he mismatched berry after berry. It wasn't his fault though, none of the plants that came up were native to District Seven which made him flustered.

"Oh it's alright dear, I'm sure you did fine," she said reassuringly and patted his knee.

He knew he didn't. And it wasn't the inevitable low score that bothered him, after all scores only mattered for the betting and impressing prospective sponsors which he would have none of.

What bothered him was the knowledge that training was over and he was no better at anything than the day he started. After struggling for three days he couldn't use a weapon, build a shelter, or even recognize which plants were safe to eat. When the games started tomorrow he would have nothing. No brains, no brawn, no sponsors, and he realized with a dull pang, no hope.

A commercial for a shampoo that promised to keep the curls of any wig intact wrapped up and finally, the scores were announced by the ever faux-encouraging Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith.

As usual, the Careers scored in the eight-to-ten range, the tributes from the urban districts averaging a three. And then District Seven came up. Anya managed to pull an eight, a score that made the corners of her mouth turn up into a barely perceptible smile while Blight received a three.

The scores for the outer Districts started up and it was barely a surprise that this year a number of outlying tributes scored exceptionally well with scores of seven, eight, nine, flashing on the screens while the hosts joked that there must have been something in the water.

Impressive scores from Districts that poor was practically unheard of, making Blight's score even more pitiful in comparison. He hung his head in his hands in despair as he realized it wasn't just the Careers that he would be in trouble with, everyone right down to the coal-boy from the poorest district would probably be able to kill him easier than pie.

He was barely aware of Anya rising from her seat and walking to her room until he heard the soft click of her door.

"It's alright Bobby Jean," Selphie said consolingly and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "Scores hardly matter when it comes right down to it. Look, last year's victor scored a two. Nobody thought much of her but at the end of the day, Wiress turned out to be ever the winner."

"Call me Blight," he mumbled. He wasn't sure why he was telling her now, but maybe it was because he wanted at least one person in the Capitol to know his preferred name before be died.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Only one that calls me Bobby Jean's my ma. Everybody else calls me Blight."

"Why, that's a terrible thing to call someone!" she protested.

"It ain't, if you get the meaning behind it."

Selphie looked as if she were about to ask him before she was interrupted by the mandatory broadcast. "Aaaaand welcome back to Caesar's Palace, with an exclusive interview with Camilla Silver," Caesar Flickerman's voice blared from the television.

Both Blight and Selphie turned to the television to see the newest Head Gamemaker, a pink-haired young woman who had been surgically enhanced with cat's ears and tail walk up to the stage waving and blowing kisses to the applauding crowd.

"So Camilla you're the youngest and also the first female Head Gamemaker in history, isn't that right?"

She settled on her seat, legs crossed, hands neatly folded. "I'm the first of my kind, you seen any? No shade, but the previous Head Gamemakers, were a bunch of stuffy old men who didn't know when to shake things up."

The audience gasped, then burst into raucous laughter.

"Hey, I said no shade," she held up her hands in mock defense with a laugh.

Blight couldn't help but notice that the cat's ears on her head kept twitching and her tail swished nervously throughout the interview. He watched her carefully, noting the cracks in her smile, the way her brow seemed to furrow, the beads of sweat on her forehead. She was walking on a tightrope, and she knew it.

"So you're planning on shaking things up eh? Can you give us a hint?" Caesar leaned forward expectantly.

She waved him off bashfully. "Oh Caesar, you know a lady never reveals her secrets. But I can tell you this, I've been designing this arena since I was in high school. It's going to be big."

"And deadly?"

The audience laughed.

"Do you even have to ask?"

Blight shivered with apprehension.

They moved on to other topics like her early life and school, at which point Selphie murmured "Camilla was actually one of my sorority sisters back in university."

Blight stared at her in disbelief. "You went to university?"

"Why do you sound so surprised?" Selphie had the gall to look insulted, touching her gloved leather hand to her similarly gloved leather chest. "All the escorts have to take a few required courses, of course I was never _nearly_ as clever as Camilla though. I swear everyone in that family's some sort of genius, her older brother is a unit commander in the Special Ops and they're always competing to see who's more successful."

They both continued to watch for a while before the interview wrapped up and they were allowed to turn off the television.

Selphie glanced at the clock. "Well then, that's that. Time for bed dear, you have a big, big, big day tomorrow for the interviews. Try to get as much rest as possible, you don't want dark circles under your eyes hmm?"

He nodded and walked into his room numbly, shutting the door behind him. "Sororities, Special Ops, ha…" his lips trembled and he clenched his fists. As much as he tried distract himself with Capitol intricacies, alone in a quiet room he was flooded by thoughts of death. Interviews tomorrow, and then what? He collapsed against the door, sliding down until he was sitting on the ground.

Blight buried his head in his arms and began to shake uncontrollably as he listed all the things he had taken for granted and would never experience again.

The feel of the cool breeze on a hot day.

The crunch of wet grass beneath his feet in the morning.

The satisfying scraw of a cockatrice followed by the thump at his feet.

The smell of smoke and gunpowder and the sight of the bullets flying towards their intended targets as if they were magnets.

His family.

He was scared dammit! He didn't want to die! In his desperation, his eyes fell upon the window of his large bedroom. He opened it, immediately feeling the whoosh of wind against his face and the dull honks and roars of vehicles whizzing by. Peering out, he remembered that he was on the seventh floor so it wasn't like he could simply jump but maybe...

He turned to his closet and flung it open.

"What can I do for you?" a cool robotic female voice asked.

"Gimme scarves, a whole bunch of 'em," he said frantically.

A chute from the top of the closet opened out and an assortment of long woolen scarves came tumbling out.

He gathered them in a pile and tested them for sturdiness. They were felt strong, strong enough to support his weight so he lashed them together with a knot he had learned from training and secured one end to his bedpost.

He wove the other end under his legs and tied it around his waist and climbed out on the steel-wrought windowsill, squatting down to duck his head and body under the window. Holding the rest of the length of bunched up scarves in his hands, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

This actually reminded him of one of the stories his ma used to tell, the one with the princess imprisoned in a tower by an evil witch. Well, if she could survive a thousand foot jump, and escape, then surely he could too. Blight forced himself to throw his body backwards and jumped out the window... only to be knocked back inside by some invisible force.

_What the?_

He fell on the bedroom floor with a clatter and only managed to break the fall with his hands. He dusted himself off as he staggered to his feet again. _What in tarnation?_ Cautiously, he reached his hand out the window further until he met with some electrical resistance and actually punched himself in the face from the recoil so hard he fell over and met the floor for the second time.

Face smarting, he brushed the dust off his knees and staggered back to his feet. Well, what did he expect? Of course the Capitol would have some measures to keep the tributes from escaping. He felt furious at himself for even trying.

Even if he had managed to leave the tower, then what? It wasn't like he could _walk_ back to District Seven, and they would hardly let him leave the Capitol anyhow, even if he had managed to find the train station. He was going into the Games, and that was that. The only event left was the farce of the tribute interviews and then…. He grit his teeth at the thought of the arena and his grim future.

.oOo.

The next night Blight found himself sweating in a dark brown tuxedo with leaf accents between his partner and the girl from Eight.

There were too many cameras, the lights were too bright, it was too hot, and as tribute after tribute got up he was aware that it was almost his turn.

He remembered Lester once saying that the most common phobia is fear of public speaking. The second one being death. He drummed his fingers on the table and looked around agitatedly. As someone who was going to be facing both pretty soon, Blight had to admit that he understood how the torture of public speaking was more nerve-wracking than the idea of quick death.

When the feeling of suffocation become too much he loosened his tie- which was printed with apples because his stylist had still insisted that apple trees would represent Seven- and let out a sigh of relief.

Blight hated giving reports in front of the class, and even then it was a room of fifty people. And now he suddenly expected to be witty, playful, and entertaining in front of the whole country? Nah, it was more likely that he would just end up pissing himself.

This year Caesar's hair was an ugly brick red, and his lips and eyelids were painted in the same hue so that he looked almost clown-like. From his seat Blight squinted at the animated talk-show host.

Yesterday he had seen him on the television screen and hadn't thought anything of it, but now that he was up close and in person, he noticed that this Caesar Flickerman was a different man than last year's Caesar Flickerman, but as tradition, the actor kept the stage name and nobody mentioned the switch.

Like the Caesar Flickermans before him, the new host told a few jokes to warm up the audience, then got right down to business.

The interviews started and it seemed like everyone was playing up some angle. The boy from Two was an icy, cold-blooded killer. The boy from Four was humorous and friendly. The sleek, red-haired girl from Five was rather stiff. But of course it was the girl from Six who stole the show. Already a minor celebrity in the eyes of the Capitolites who kept up with her famous father in the media through the years, she would most likely have sponsors coming out her ass, even with her low score.

Blight listened to her gush and scowled at the hypocrite. During training she had let him know she looked down on playing their Game but what was she doing now? Playing up to the Capitol for their support! She wasn't even that special either, he thought sourly, just some girl who talked about repairing vintage cars with her father and how much she hopes to continue his legacy and bring pride to her District.

Selphie had encouraged him to talk about his family, especially that "interesting" brother-in-law of his but he had a feeling that the Capitol audience wouldn't be too interested in stories about a family of rednecks. And he was practically certain he would be gunned down on the spot if he started sharing some Lester' "theories" of how he thought the Capitol worked.

He turned his attention back to the front of the stage where Anya was clomping over in a pair of high heels and a short leaf-green dress. Her prep team had really outdone themselves, her shimmering makeup and styled hair making her _almost_ look like a girl.

Still, her personality certainly wasn't winning her any points with the audience. Especially when she only gave short, one word answers to all of Caesar's questions and even the legendary host was struggling to remain upbeat and chatty.

Too soon they called his name and he stumbled his way to centre stage which was if anything even hotter and brighter than his seat at the back.

"So Bobby Jean, the Capitol must be quite a change from District Seven. What's impressed you most since you arrived here?" Caesar asked.

He blinked when the harsh light flashed right in front of his face. "The-the toilets," Blight managed to stammer.

The audience burst into laughter.

Caesar's shoulders shook and he slapped his knee in amusement. "You're killing me Bobby Jean, you really are, just keep this up and the Games will be a cinch."

Blight tried to pull the brim of his hat over his eyes in embarrassment. The toilets? Could he sound like a bigger hillbilly? But he realized he was bare-headed and instead tried to comb his hair back nonchalantly.

"I know what you mean though," Caesar leaned forward in a faux whisper as if in confidence. "After a day of eating the Capitol's rich foods and letting it out, I'm impressed about what they could do. I'm sure you've been over-indulging in the food as well?"

"Naw, can't stomach it," he mumbled.

"What?" Caesar looked scandalized. "Then what kind of food are you used to in District Seven then?"

"Racoon, squirrel, cockatrice, butter sketti," he listed.

Caesar held a hand to his mouth like he was about to be sick. "Okay okay, let's get away from the food, shall we? Tell us about your family, a real _rustic_ bunch, that's what I'm guessing eh?" Something about the way he said it made him think that Flickerman was making fun of him but Blight couldn't think of a snarky retort on the spot.

Blight nodded slowly. "Um I have a ma and pa, two sisters, a nephew, a brother and a brother-in-law."

"Must be nice coming from such a large, loving family," Caesar remarked.

"You crazy?" Blight found himself saying. "Y'all got any idea how loud seven people are in a single-wide trailer? Ain't no way anyone doesn't become crazy putting up with their noise." _But they're my family and I miss them,_ he thought with a pang.

He was hit by the sudden realization that he was probably never going to see his family again. He was never going to hear Cody and Milly argue. Or listen to his mother screech at his father. Or pretend to pay attention to one of Lester's conspiracy theories. But what he regretted most of all was that he wouldn't be able to keep his promise to baby Jakey and teach him how to shoot.

"Awwwww," the audience cooed dutifully, just as the buzzer sounded.

Blight shuffled back to his seat, wondering dully what his family at home would think of his goodbye.

.

The pretty girl from Eight was next, but before she even got up from her seat, the monitors suddenly went dark, met with a sharp intake of breath from everyone in the audience.

When they came back on the shots of the stage were replaced them with indiscernible masked figures, but Blight couldn't tell for sure because they were gone after a second.

And everybody in the audience began freaking out. A garishly dressed woman near the front let out a high-pitched shriek and promptly collapsed into her flustered husband.

"Holy shit, what the hell's going on?" Anya murmured with interest, her hands gripping the armrests of her seat with curiosity.

Everybody watched as the monitor dissolved into scattered snippets from the previous interview and then suddenly static.

Without moving from their seats, the twenty-four tributes simultaneously turned around to watch the whole thing erupt over the big screen behind them in rapt fascination. Control for the screens broke down into a broadcast battle as the Capitol tech masters tried to fend off the hacker's attack.

After a very brief struggle they managed to wrestle control back to their side, which made the boy from Eight whisper something to his district partner. Blight pricked his ears and tried to overhear their hushed conversation, he could have sworn he heard the name Paylor, but wasn't sure. He frowned and leaned back in his chair. Now that he thought about it, the Capitol solved the problem so quickly and so easily, it was as if they had prepared for and were anticipating the attack, but was the attack really from Paylor in District 8? Was it really possible?

The black-clad figures in the audience sprang into action and blocked the doorways. "Special Operations Police, counterterrorism division. That was only a broadcast signal intrusion, please remain calm the signal is now clear. Nobody is allowed to leave until our partner division has finished their investigation," the leader barked.

Understandably the audience buzzed with questions and objections, a few more Capitolites fainted from the excitement, and more were clamouring to get out and arguing with the Special Ops.

Their voices rose against the din of feet scrambling to the exits, their red faces with spittle flying and garish costumes created a scene from some sort of circus-nightmare.

Completely frozen to his seat, Blight for the hundredth time wondered if there was any possibility that he would be able to avoid going into the Games.

"Well, what an uh, surprising turn of events!" Caesar Flickerman seemed to just come out from a dazed stupor and put on a huge smile and tried to act like it was part of the show.

He was speaking to an empty audience though as no one was paying any sort of attention to the front of the stage at all. Even the cameramen were giving each other puzzled glances, wondering if they should take off as well.

"But no matter what the show must go on!" He gave the blinking cameras a toothy grin. "Now let's get on with the interviews, shall we? Give a warm welcome for Lyssa Sullivan everybody!"

The girl from Eight pouted and sashayed up to the stage in a swathe of scarlet gauze, but Blight saw the steely anger in her eyes and her tightly clenched fists. If he had to guess, he would say she wasn't angry at the fact that no one was paying attention to her interview, but that they insisted on continuing this mockery when there was a bigger news story everybody else wanted to hear about.

As if in her own cheeky rebellion, she turned her face against Caesar and refused to say a single word, forcing the host to answer his own questions.

Not that it really mattered, given that the mob below the stage was more concerned with getting the hell out than the show. Their frantic voices actually drowned out Caesar's and Blight couldn't help but wonder how much the viewers in the Districts knew of what just happened.

Wouldn't the president be furious at this small slip in control? His gaze was drawn to president Snow, head furtively bent in discussion with one of the Special Ops.

_What in tarnation is going on this year?_ He wondered.

* * *

**A/N Next chapter Blight enters the arena! I was asked if the story would be Blight's POV all the way and no, once the Games start POV will switch between Blight, Sabine, Raven, Niko, Tally, Cabel, Dexter, and Marlin. Plus Ike Paylor gets his own chapter too. I know some people prefer one consistent POV all the way (like The Hunger Games and Harry Potter and a lot of really good books) but I chose multiple POVs to show all the different stuff happening around the arena and between each alliance. Plus, each tribute brings their own insight on their own secrets about their Districts when they drop their backstories.**


	7. Chapter 7

  


**Bobby Jean "Blight" Oakley, District 7 Male**

They hadn't been able to leave the television studio until after midnight because of the investigation.

Selphie had made a big fuss complaining that it was unfair given that the Games started so early the next day. "After the interviews all the escorts got together and convinced Camilla to postpone the Games if the same thing happens next year," she had confided to him as she whisked the District Seven tributes back to their apartment. Too bad he wouldn't benefit because he would be most likely be dead next year.

His stylist Cornelius had come before dawn, guiding Blight to the waiting hovercraft where he was lifted by an electric ladder. He was still yawning and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes when he took his seat, not yet letting go of the hope that _something_ would come up that would cancel the Games.

As he took his seat to stare out the window unseeingly he thought back to last night's strange events. It was the first he had seen of an interruption during the tribute interviews, but maybe because he hadn't lived long enough to see very many.

Later that night in his room he had turned on the television to watch the recap of the last night's mandarin viewing and it was a continuous seamless stream of interviews, no break in sight and definitely no background audio of a frantic audience.

Maybe this was a regular occurrence for the Games and they always edited the footage for reruns? Blight shook his head vigorously. No, it was useless to think about the past interviews, he should be focusing on the Games ahead and how he would survive.

His mentors hadn't given him any advice for the bloodbath but any idiot knew that it was the number one place where tributes died. He closed his eyes and tried to recall the mandatory broadcasts that he saw in the past. District Seven usually did respectably well, not well enough to actually win but well enough to make the top Eight often enough.

It must be something about physical labour at a young age and the clean air and fresh water. The fact that most of them knew how to use an ax didn't hurt either. The most successful strategy he had seen was to pick up whatever was nearest at their feet and then make a run for it, which he supposed would be his strategy once the gong ran.

Deep in his thoughts he almost didn't notice a woman in a white lab coat appear, holding a large syringe.

"This is your tracker, Bobby Jean. The stiller you are, the more efficiently I can place it," she said calmly.

He knew what it was, it was explained every year in the Games as a way to trace the whereabouts of the tribute in the arena and would signal a cannon to go off once it no longer detected a heartbeat. It hurt slightly when it was inserted, creating a noticeable bulge under his skin and he couldn't help but run his hand over the unnatural lump and worry.

Too soon they arrived at the Launch Room, or as they were known in the districts, the Stockyard. The place animals go before slaughter. Images of the Careers slicing him open like butchers did to pigs in District Ten flashed before his eyes, he began to picture open body cavities and organs falling out while he thrashed on the floor in the death spasms like he had seen in previous bloodbaths and he struggled to keep down his breakfast.

When he was ready, Cornelius pulled out his uniform neatly packaged in an opaque bag, eagerly exclaiming how it was the most exciting part of being a stylist. After he had ripped it open, they both had to stop and stare at what the Gamemakers had decided would be this year's uniform.

The tightest pair of ripped jeans he had ever seen, a brown woolen scarf, plaid button-up shirt and leather boots came tumbling out of the package.

"Wow," Cornelius eyed the outfit appreciatively. "You tributes are lucky this year, this is honestly _the_ most fashionable arena uniform I've ever seen."

Blight stared at him in disbelief, then at the jeans. "How the hell do I move in this dang outfit?"

Cornelius didn't reply but instead handed Blight his cap which he snatched eagerly and jammed it on his head.

"You'll be pleased to know your token cleared the review board," he said, ignoring his previous question. "They eliminated the necklace from the girl from Five though, the review board found that it contained built-in explosives. She claimed she had no knowledge of it and there was no way to prove she did but she lost her token."

_Jeepers, District Five is just plain crazy_ , Blight thought as he pulled on the clothes. _Better hope I don't run into any of them._ He had to suck in his already flat stomach and jump up and down to get the jeans to fit, but otherwise there was no problem.

Cornelius sent him a smug look. "There, you're all set. Move around and make sure everything's comfortable."

Blight awkwardly raised his arms and bent at the waist. To his surprise, he was able to move quite fluidly, as if he wasn't wearing anything at all. Even the tight-fitting jeans were no trouble. Once again, he found himself grudgingly impressed by the Capitol's technology.

"Feels good," he admitted.

"Excellent, nothing left to do but wait for the call. Oh, and boy?"

At this point Blight realized his stylist never even bothered to learn his name. For some reason that he couldn't put his finger on, that small fact annoyed him.

"What?" he snapped.

"Do try to win would you? My career has been in a backslide ever since I was demoted from the District Four stylist years ten ago but if I could just get a victor, oh the costumes I could design! I've had sketches for the victory tour, and the crowning, planned for _ages_ that I've been waiting to use," he swooned and sighed like a schoolgirl over a celebrity crush.

"Don't worry, I ain't gonna go suicidal," Blight snapped and turned away in disgust, not wanting to even look at his stylist anymore.

A few years ago a girl had purposefully threw herself on the ground before the landmines deactivated. They blew up both tributes on either side, one of which was a Career and the Gamemakers got into big trouble for that one. Ever since that incident, they had scaled back the explosions to a manageable level.

Blight took a seat on the black couch and stared at the ground, conjuring flashbacks of past Hunger Games bloodbaths until a pleasant female voice announced it was time for launch. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He snuck a sidelong glance at his stylist and wondered if he could perhaps just knock him out and _not_ step up for launch. As if reading his mind, Peacekeepers materialized from seemingly nowhere and stepped towards him menacingly.

"Alright, alright, I'm goin'," he muttered. Trying to stand tall, he walked over to stand on the circular metal plate. A glass cylinder lowered around him and he began to rise.

For maybe fifteen seconds he was in darkness and then he could feel the metal plate pushing him out of the cylinder, into the open air.

He squinted at the dazzling light, and as his vision adjusted the first thing he noticed was seats. Rows and rows of grey empty bleachers raised like a polo stadium in the Capitol.

He turned around to see the same sight. For a brief moment he was terrified that the Gamemakers had boxed them in a circular space, but to his relief he noticed exits every few feet along the wall. He didn't even have to chance to try and figure out the arena before the anthem sounded, interrupting his scattered thoughts.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the annual Forty-sixth Hunger Games begin!" The voice of legendary announcer, Claudius Templesmith rang out around them, causing Blight to nearly jump in surprise.

_I gotta calm the hell down._ Blight bit his lip and took a deep breath, ignoring his pounding heart and tried to take in his surroundings strategically.

They were on a flat, grassy field in some sort of enclosed stadium. He looked straight up, and through the open ceiling he could see the cloudy blue skies and even the specks that were birds flying by, but there was also the largest LED digital clock he had ever seen counting down from sixty.

The tribute to his right was the boy from Six. The tribute to his left was the girl from Eleven. The nearest Career was a few pedestals away which he took as a good omen. Also he couldn't help but notice that instead of an identical uniform, all the tributes were dressed differently, but in equally gaudy clothes.

He turned his attention to the supplies and cornucopia. To his surprise and delight, he didn't see a single weapon in the horn. He didn't have to look at the Careers to know they were probably cursing like his ma when the television read out the lotto numbers. But it was a good sign for the other tributes, for him too, and he decided that he had an even better chance of grabbing supplies and getting out alive.

His eyes scanned the ground in front of him, trying to decide what he should aim for. In terms of supplies, there were all hidden inside backpacks of varying size strewn around the field.

It was probably the new Head Gamemaker's way of shaking things up, he supposed. Making the supplies a mystery and a surprise. Even he had to admit it was a good idea, if he was a viewer he would be glued to his seat wondering what each backpack held. Back in the Capitol, children would be jumping up and down in their seats, adults doing the same as they speculated on what would be hidden inside each pack.

Blight grit his teeth and hopped up and down in place to loosen his muscles because unfortunately he wasn't a Capitolite, he was a tribute inside the arena ready to fight for his lif ,and he was determined to do whatever it took to survive for as long as he could.

He focused on a large black pack a few yards in, and when the gong rang out he sprang into action and full-out sprinted towards the pack. Luckily, no other tribute had set their sights on the same pack and he managed to avoid running into anyone.

Not even a minute in, he could hear the sickening crunch of bone and high-pitched screams of pain from other tributes but Blight ignored them and focused on his target.

He slung the pack over one shoulder, encouraged by how heavy it was, turned around and ran full-speed towards the nearest exit. The door opened with a crash as he threw his entire body weight into it and he tumbled outside, the weight of the backpack causing him to fall flat on his face.

His hands and knees smarting, Blight picked himself up, and did a double-take at this year's arena.

Small shops and brick houses lining the cement streets, high-rise glass buildings and lampposts every few feet. A pot of begonias hung from the railings of a balcony, the flag of a bright-red mailbox was standing up. The streets were freshly swept and picture-perfect. The only thing missing were the people.

Usually the arena was some variation of a forest, jungle, or swamp but this year, the arena was a city.

One of the tributes pushed past him, running madly into the streets bringing Blight back to his senses and he bolted in another direction.

He kept running in that direction, buildings passing like blurs for what seemed like hours but was probably only minutes, and then jogged when he could no longer run, and finally slowed down to a walk when his lungs felt like they were on fire and his legs felt like jelly.

The last time he had run this much was during physical education in school when their teacher was in a bad mood and felt like taking it out on the kids. Some of his friends had complained, stating that they didn't have to push themselves this hard, they shouldn't be training like a Career District. But the teacher had only retorted that they didn't know, maybe they would be Reaped one day and would be grateful for the exercise.

Panting like a dog, Blight thought that she was right. He ducked into a narrow alley, climbed over a chainlink fence, and after deciding that he that he had put enough distance between himself and the other tributes, collapsed on the ground.

As he lay on the ground trying to catch his breath, the cannons began to go off. He counted the shots. One...two...three...on and on until they reached eight. Eight dead in all, sixteen left to play. It was definitely on the small side as far as bloodbaths go, definitely due to the complete absence of deadly weapons in the cornucopia this year.

After he had regained his breath, he hurriedly unzipped his pack and emptied it on the ground. He began to panic when its contents came tumbling out. Rocks. Nothing but worthless rocks. This couldn't be, no it couldn't! He frantically unzipped the side pockets only to come up with a few smaller rocks.

_Dangit! Those high-cotton sonofabitches Gamemakers be doggone bullshittin'!_

He imagined Camilla Silver and the other Gamemakers laughing at him from their fancy screens in the Capitol which only made him angrier.

He mentally screamed every obscenity he knew and kicked a brick wall in frustration, which he realized wasn't such a smart idea as he was jumping up and down and clutching his throbbing toe afterwards.

**The Careers**

"This one is full of rocks too," the girl from One groaned as she dumped out the contents of the final pack onto the grassy field. Around the pretty girl with golden curls tied in buns on top of her head were equally tall piles of rock from pack after pack. She had desperately hoped that at least _one_ of the packs couldn't be useless, but after opening the last one she angrily threw it on the ground.

"Hmm..." Her partner ran his hand through his silky blonde hair, frowning with disapproval. He was wearing a slouchy beanie on his head, tweed pants, high-top sneakers and a black shirt stating 'THE COOL KID JUST SHOWED UP'. How the Gamemakers thought he would feel cool in such an asinine outfit was beyond him.

The six Careers sat in the middle of the field littered with the bodies of dead tributes they had killed earlier that day. The grass was stained glossy red in places where blood was freshly spilled, a darker brown where the blood had time to dry.

A few small splatters stained their own clothes and skin which they ignored because there were more pressing matters to worry about. Killing with their bare hands meant less mess, but also less dead tributes overall.

They had been initially legitimately concerned about the number of high-scoring tributes, but it had only meant over-confident idiots who thought that just because they were somewhat skilled with axes and scythes and they could go rushing into the heart of the bloodbath.

Too bad they didn't know how to fight bare-handed. The Careers had cut through the ones who had the misfortune of being nearby, snapping necks and crushing windpipes.

"So this is it huh? Only rocks?" Niko held his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans, partially to keep them from sagging, and turned to the sky casually. "You guys up there got anything for us?"

The Careers looked upward eagerly. A few moments later, six silver parachutes came floating down bearing lightweight grey vests with straps around the shoulders and around the waist.

"The hell are these?" The girl from Four, Tiki picked one up and turned it around in her hands, studying it carefully.

The District Two tributes exchanged knowing looks.

"Kevlar vests," Niko replied, taking off his T-shirt and strapping the vest on, "they protect you from bullets. If someone shoots you the vest absorbs the impact and reduces penetration, as long as the force and the calibre is small enough."

"Why would our mentors send us this protection and not food? Hey, if you guys are listening, can we get some something to eat too?" The boy from One called hopefully.

The Careers held their breaths and waited, but nothing else came floating towards them from the sky to the still-dewy field.

"Our mentors know more than we do about the arena," Tori finally said when it was apparent they weren't getting any more help. "By not sending anything else, they're sending a message."

"Like what, that the arena's going to pump our stomachs full of lead and not food?" Marlin grumbled. "I need to eat, _amiga_."

"St. Barsyn give me strength," the boy from One groaned and flopped over on his back.

"I don't know what they're trying to say, but we won't get anything done just sitting around here." Niko snapped. "C'mon let's get out of here and see the rest of the arena." Without waiting for a reply he strode over to the nearest exit and pushed the door open, right into the city streets.

The rest of the Careers followed and they slowly stepped out from the stadium and into the real arena. Their eyes widened as they simply stood there and took in the streets and buildings stretching farther than what they could see.

Miles away to the left they could make out a suspension bridge held up by metal cords over a glistening sea, to the right there was a maze of roads and overpasses leading to a place they couldn't see from where they were standing but all around the city was littered with tall skyscrapers, glass and steel and concrete like a city before the Dark Days.

"Whoa."

Their expressions were sheer shock and amazement, and they instinctively began to analyze the arena, knowing that the size of the arena number of buildings meant hiding places for both tributes and potential danger.

"Yeah, whoa is right. This isn't the wilderness anymore."

As they stared into the deserted streets and buildings, the gears in their heads began turning. Niko was the first to speak. "Alright I see what the situation is. There's food and supplies in the arena, that's why our mentors didn't send anything, it's all there for the taking. We'll split up into two man teams, Tiki and Cologne, Tori and Shampoo, and Marlin with me. Search the area for supplies then meet back here," he pointed upwards at the LED clock that was large enough to be visible from everywhere in the city, "before eight o'clock to watch the recap. Everyone agree?"

"Yeah."

"Yes."

_"Si."_

"Sure."

"Gladly."

"Great," he smirked. "Now let the Hunger Games really begin."

* * *

**A/N Aaaand we're in the arena! Sorry the beginning of the Games starts so slow. Dramatic things don't start happening until chapter 10 or so, so hold on!**


	8. Chapter 8

  


Chapter 8 The Exploration Eventuation

**The Careers**

The girl from Four and the boy from One walked side by side, no weapons in their hands but empty packs on their back along the deserted streets, the occasional piece of garbage flying by or crunching underneath their feet.

The area featured nothing but identical attached brick houses with neat grey stoops and flat tiled roofs broken by the occasional empty lot. No flowers grew except for wilted grass, the only thing that was vibrant was the graffiti sprayed on broken fences and dirty walls.

Tiki glanced back and forth at the buildings on either side, recognizing it as the urban poverty that she was too familiar with in District Four.

If she squinted she could almost make out the skinny children playing rag-tag games on the streets, the stray cats and dogs padding through alleyways one step ahead of the stew pot and bearded shopkeepers scowling at their scanty coins while keeping one eye out for shifty-eyed burglars hiding behind last-month's newspaper scoping out the next hit.

District Four was considered a rich district, but not where she was from.

It was a strange dichotomy, hungry but not starving, untrained but not weak, but most importantly, -she closed her eyes and tightened her lips when she whispered it in her head- Career, but not loyal.

The whiny outlying Districts could call them all the names they wanted for playing the Capitol's game but at the end of the day District Four wasn't sending in frightened children afraid to die, they were showing they could fight back. If anything Districts 1, 2 and 4 should be considered the rebellious Districts, she mused.

Tiki remembered when Syreneade from the block had won a few years ago, glorious and proud, like a hero in one of the old stories faded on parchment. For one whole year, no one went hungry in District Four. It all seemed so easy, that if someone from District 4 could do it, why couldn't she?

"Eh? Isn't that a green grocers?" Cologne said suddenly, spotting the familiar green and white parasol over glass doors. A cheery red open sign hung in front of the window next to wooden crates labeled fresh fruit.

Tiki snapped out of her musings and back into the Games. "Looks like it."

He yanked at the door, which didn't budge. "It won't open," he cried in exasperation and turned to his ally.

"Stand back _vato_ , this is how we do it back home," Tiki gestured for him to step back, picking up a rusted pipe from the ground which she had wrapped in her tie-dyed shirt. She brought her weapon back, then threw her weight into smashing it against the glass window. There was a tinkling of shattered glass as it cascaded onto the ground and then they were looking at a gaping hole large enough to walk through.

The two of them stepped inside, taking care not to cut themselves on the jagged edges of the window and began stuffing their packs with food. Apples, oranges, packages of biscuits, maybe with a thin layer of dust overtop but otherwise still edible and definitely meant for them to take.

"Eh, what's this?" Tiki peered over the counter and pulled out a bottle of vodka. "Hey _vato_ , check this out." She began to laugh. "The Gamemakers really thought of everything."

"You honestly think getting roaring drunk in the arena is a good idea?" Cologne scoffed.

She rolled her eyes and stuck the bottle into her bag. "No idiot, haven't you ever used alcohol for disinfecting wounds?" She jumped behind the counter, just to see what else they could take. Sifting through more bottles of vodka, paper bags, receipts, she came across an unlabelled wooden crate that was nailed shut.

Obviously, her immediate instinct was to pry it open, which she did so with a heavy pair of scissors nearby. Her eyes widened at what was inside. " _Ay carumba_ , take a look at this!"

"What?" Cologne hopped over the counter and crouched next to her to peer into the crate.

"Holy hell, they put guns in here!" he yelped.

She was so excited she could barely speak. "I know right? This is why our mentors sent us bulletproof vests," Tiki said excitedly. "Do you know how easy it is to win with these? Just pull the trigger, bang! They either fall to the floor or you try again, no need to even get close."

He picked one up and tried to take a couple of clumsy practice shots at the ceiling. Nothing happened. Frowning, he shook the gun and tried again.

"Empty," he sighed.

Tiki's shoulders slumped in disappointment. "Should have known, giving us loaded guns would be just too easy right?"

He shrugged, also disappointed. "Yeah, but still, I can't believe they would put these in the arena."

They got back to their feet and continued looting the store. By the time the two of them were ready to leave, their packs were loaded down with food, drinks, and also packing heat.

.

The girls from One and Two strolled down the grey and desolate abandoned streets, their brightly-coloured crop tops and fitted trousers the only cheerful splash of life in the otherwise depressing landscape.

Both girls spoke a mile a minute, eager to know more about each other's District and taking advantage of the only opportunity in their lives to do so.

"Seriously? Your textbooks say all we do is produce jewels and cosmetics and other luxurious products?" Shampoo giggled. "We actually do a lot more, there's a whole industry for art and design, I think my parents tried to enroll me when I was three? Anyway the instructors there said I had zero talent so they enrolled me into the 'performing arts' academy instead so here I am."

"Performing arts? Is that how you guys get away with it? No wonder you guys are never quite as good as us!" Tori guffawed. "We're Peacekeepers, and man those drills are pretty tough. You ever have your trainers set fire to your dorms at night announcing that your assigned district is in revolt, what're you gonna do about it?"

The two girls burst into laughter.

"Are you serious? You gotta be making that up."

"No! That time they disarmed the sprinklers too, and I thought I was gonna fucking die. I think I failed that drill, oh but I made it up on the one where they sicced the spider mutts on us."

"Aw man, your academy sounds hella cool, I wish I lived in District Two."

They turned a corner and stopped in their tracks. There was a sharp contrast between the glum residential area they had passed through and the colourful shopping district in front of them. Behind them was grey. In front of them was pink, green, red, blue, silver, and merchandise beckoning invitingly behind glass windows.

"Whoa."

"Um, okay. This looks good, almost too good to be true. What exactly are we looking for again?" asked Shampoo.

"Anything useful, you know food, supplies, ugh better clothes. Seriously, how is anyone going to take us seriously in these humiliating get-ups?" Tori gestured at her sequined crop top that stopped too high up her chest and fitted red trousers that began low on her hips.

Shampoo brushed a strand of her perfectly crimped hair off her forehead. "Tell me about it, it's like we were dressed by some colour-blind apes. Suppose it goes with the theme though, dressed like street-walkers walking down the street." She laughed at her own joke and the two girls continued walking and scoping out the new turn of events.

"You know, I don't like this arena," Tori said suddenly. "I have a bad feeling about all these buildings, anything can be inside them."

"Aw, you're scared," Shampoo teased.

"It's not being scared, it's being cautious," she snapped. "This place is built to kill us if we're not careful, and I'm not going to die because of some stupid- wait what was that?"

She skidded to a halt and backtracked in front of an army supply store. Mannequins in the windows dressed in the khaki and camouflage colours as if they were preparing for war, boots helmets big sale everything 25% off! The poster screamed.

Shampoo jiggled the door. "It's locked," she pouted.

"Stand back." Tori kicked down the door swiftly with her heel, causing a cloud of dust to fly into the air.

The girls coughed but otherwise it didn't seem like a noxious Gamemaker trap. When the dust cleared they entered cautiously, ready to fight at the first sign of a trap, but nothing happened.

To their delight the store was wall-to-wall crammed with the usual cornucopia supplies like canteens, compasses, rope, tents, gas masks and water purifiers.

The first thing Tori did was grab a bottle of red pills from a nearby shelf and swallow one dry.

"What was that?" Shampoo asked.

"Soldier pills, they give you enough energy and nutrients to keep fighting for one day," she replied and offered her the bottle. Shampoo accepted and cautiously popped one into her mouth.

"There's so much good stuff here, how will we decide what to carry?"

"Yeah I dunno."

They kept walking and eyeing the goodies on the shelves until they came across an entire wall of guns, neatly labeled with their names underneath.

Remington M31 Pump-Action Shotgun

Ingram M10 Machine Pistol

Derringer .22 Double High Standard Pistol

Walther PPK 7.65mm Pistol

Smith & Wesson M19 .357 Magnum Revolver

Beretta M92F 9mm Semi-Automatic Pistol

9mm Semi-Automatic Pistol

Smith & Wesson .38 Chief's Special Revolver

Colt Python .357 Magnum Revolver

M1903 Springfield

Tori gave a shriek of surprise and delight. "Holy shit, are these for real?"

The two girls each grabbed a gun from the wall and inspected them, turning them over their hands eagerly.

Shampoo aimed at a target on the wall and fired. Nothing happened.

"Ugh, they don't work," she groaned.

Tori rolled her eyes. She grabbed the handgun and flicked the safety with a click. "Lesson number one, turn off the safety."

She aimed at the same target and tore a hole right through the bullseye. A sharp blast rang though the room and the burning smell of gunpowder wafted from the smoking gun.

"How did you know?" Shampoo asked with combination of curiosity and envy.

Tori smirked and deftly twirled the gun in her hand. "Everyone in the Peacekeeper Corps knows their way around a gun. These ones here are oldies, but the basic structure's the same. C'mon lets bring some back for the others, Niko's gonna shit himself once he sees these, when it came to shooting that guy was _good_."

.

"Hold up amigo," Marlin held out his arm, stopping his ally. They craned their heads to read the rusted sign above the garage they had nearly passed. 'BJ AUTO REPAIR' , it exclaimed with bold block letters. "Imagine how much faster we could get through this arena with a car, eh?"

Niko shook his head. "No. None of us even know how to drive." He tried to keep walking but Marlin grabbed his arm back, and he turned around to glare at him in annoyance.

"Wait a sec _amigo_ , I might. I've spent half my life steering my father's ships, how different can it be?"

Niko paused and mulled it over. To be honest, the entire arena was too big to search on foot. Having a vehicle would definitely give them a field advantage and hopefully speed up the Games. Plus, this might be what the Gamemakers intended, an entertaining twist which would score them more favour with the audience. "Fine, we'll give it a try," he finally said.

They rolled up their sleeves, then the two boys grunted and lifted the garage door together until the metal pleats folded over itself, creaking and moaning as if it hadn't been oiled in years. They stepped into the dusty interior, cars in various states of repair sprawled amidst jacks and lifts, hoists, tires, and oily rags on the ground.

"Keys are there," Marlin pointed to a wall stocked with keys neatly labeled with the vehicle they belonged to. He grabbed the key for a sleek minivan and they climbed in. Marlin turned the key in the ignition, expecting it to sputter to life but it wouldn't start.

"Knew this was a waste of time," Niko muttered, climbing out.

Marlin slapped his forehead. "Of course! I forgot to fill the engine. Do you see any gasoline?"

They got out and searched the garage until they found the gasoline, red plastic containers with a black nozzle on a wooden shelf next to cotton gloves and wrenches precariously perched on the edge.

Marlin carefully unscrewed the nozzle and filled the tank, the gas spluttering _glug-glug-glug_ as he poured.

They got back in the van and he turned the key again.

_Vroor,_ the engine started up with a purr.

"And we're off!" Marlin cheered and slammed on the gas pedal.

The car jerked towards the open garage door, but taking out a side of the wall with it as it crashed through. "Whoops sorry," he said sheepishly.

They tore off down the road, much quicker than when they were walking. Marlin stared at the unfamiliar dashboard, trying to make sense of all the different numbers and symbols.

It didn't take long to realiz that steering a ship and a car were two completely different things. But while he was focused on deciphering the various buttons and levers he turned a corner too fast and Niko smacked into the window.

"Watch the road, jackass," he snapped.

Marlin ran a hand through his hair sheepishly. "Sorry _amigo,_ I'll get better," he apologized.

There was a scratching sound as he ran against the curb and over a stop sign.

"Well, it's not like you can possibly get any worse," Niko grumbled.

In just a few minutes they were at the designated meeting point and their allies were in sight.

They kept racing nearer and nearer until Marlin could make out their clothes, the fruit they were snacking on, their flailing arms gesturing for him to stop, the terrified expressions on their faces- He braked hard and their allies had to jump out of the way to avoid being run over.

If they were angry it evaporated when got back to their feet and realized the car was for them.

"Wow," Tori grinned wolfishly, clearly impressed. "Can't believe it but you guys actually topped what we found." With guns and a car the Games were going to be a cinch, she thought.

Niko opened his door and smirked. "Get in losers, we're going hunting."

**Cabel Ren, District 3 Female**

_931, 932..._ Cabel counted in her head as she huffed and puffed along the abandoned streets. She tried to coordinate her breathing with her jogging as the instructor at training had taught her. It wasn't too hard, exhale when her left leg hit the ground, and inhale when her right leg hit the ground. _956,957..._

She huffed and puffed, clutching a stitch at her side. Dressed in cut-off shorts, knee socks, and a grey hoodie with cat's ears sewn on top, she looked and felt ridiculous.

One thousand steps was honestly not that much, but for someone who never had exert herself harder than running to the bus stop it was like a marathon. Her allies had agreed to grab whatever was at their feet, run away, circle around to the tail of the cornucopia and run directly from that point for about one thousand steps, and hide behind a significant landmark.

Back then they had all agreed it was a good plan, but now as she got nearer and nearer to the thousand mark with nobody in sight, she began to worry about how many things were wrong with their plan. They could have veered slightly off course at some point, ending up in four very different locations. Besides, everybody took different sized steps and it could be possible that she missed the meeting spot entirely and-

"Psst Cabel," she heard a voice hiss. She stopped in her tracks and looked around for the source of the voice.

Her partner Dexter and Tally from Five emerged from behind a dumpster. She noticed that Tally had a navy bandana tied around her head in a style popular with the street gangs in District Three's dark alleyways while Dexter was had an entire carpet draped over his shoulders and a plumed fedora. She could feel a silly grin spreading across her face and suddenly her entire body felt weak with relief and happiness at seeing her allies.

"Hey, were you guys waiting long?" She panted, dropping the pack she got from the cornucopia to the ground.

Dexter shook his head. "No. We've just emptied our packs and..." she followed his gaze to a pile of rocks.

"They filled all the packs with rocks this year," Tally said, a slight bitter tone in her serious voice.

Cabel frantically unzipped her pack and dumped the contents on the ground. They were right, she realized in dismay. The packs were filled with nothing but rocks.

"Did you see Nobyl during the bloodbath?" Tally asked.

Cabel shook her head. "No, I didn't. But he might make it soon."

They sat quietly and waited for Tally's District partner. As the minutes ticked by and hopefulness turned into doubt, it became clear that the District Five male wasn't coming.

"I guess he must have died in the bloodbath," Tally said when they could no longer ignore the possibility.

"We can wait here until the recap to confirm, just in case he does show up," Cabel offered. Dexter murmured his agreement.

The three of them decided to crack open the dumpster and rummage inside for anything edible while they waited.

After a few minutes they managed to scrounge up some dubious-looking tuna from open cans, several rotten apples and a few stale heel slices of bread.

"Well, bottoms up," said Cabel, slightly disappointed. Compared to fine dining in the Capitol, the meal of cast-offs was nauseatingly distasteful, but the show was called the Hunger Games for a reason and she knew she couldn't pass up food when it came up. They ate in silence and waited for nightfall.

When night fell the familiar anthem sounded, signaling the death recap for the day.

They jolted to attention and looked to the sky to see the seal of the Capitol flash across the sky. The first face to show up was Nobyl's, 'DISTRICT FIVE MALE' flashing underneath. Tally cursed under her breath and crossed her arms around her chest in disappointment. Cabel patted her back sympathetically.

The next death was the boy from District Six. Then the girl from Seven. The boy from Eight. The girl from Nine. Both from Eleven. And finally the girl from Twelve. The anthem sounded again, then faded away, leaving them with only the silence of the wind blowing through the streets and their own thoughts.

Eight in all. Sixteen left to play, thirteen not counting them. This year it was a small bloodbath considering there weren't any weapons present in the initial bloodbath.

"Well, time to sleep then," Tally sighed when the awkward silence had stretched over a minute.

"I'll take first watch," Dexter offered. Then he removed what looked like a pile of ragged carpet from his shoulders and draped it over his allies. "You two can both probably fit underneath the poncho my stylist gave me. I can't believe you guys got shorts as part of your uniforms, take this and use it a blanket."

He was right, and it had become slightly chilly once the sun went down and it was unfair some of the other tributes were wearing pants. Cabel smiled gratefully at her district partner and settled into the poncho next to Tally. She didn't feel tired at all, really, she was still wired from the events of the bloodbath, the excitement at the city arena, and...

_Zzzz_

Well it seemed Tally was more tired than she had seemed. Snoring was contaheous and before Cabel knew it she was yawning, her body suddenly feeling heavy and her eyelids sinking on their own accord.

She closed her eyes, letting sleep overtake her. She trusted Dexter, she trusted Tally, and there was no reason she wouldn't seize the opportunity to get some untroubled sleep.

* * *

**A/N Can anyone guess the theme for the arena uniforms? Hint: it startes with an h :)**

**Still in play:**

**All Careers**

**Dexter**

**Cabel**

**Tally**

**Sabine**

**Blight**

**D8F**

**D9M**

**D10F**

**D10M**

**Raven**


	9. Chapter 9

  


Chapter 9 Talons Alight

**Bobby Jean "Blight" Oakley District Seven Male**

Well how de do, would you look at that? Blight trudged along the middle of the streets, empty pack on his shoulders, gawking at each and every building he passed.

How did people live so close together and so high up? How crowded would the streets get when everybody headed to work? Why didn't their eyes just explode from the glare of the light from the glass windows?

In all of his eighteen years in the Sticks he had lived amoung dusty broken-down trailers, and even in town the buildings weren't nearly as tall and shiny and bright.

As amazing as the city was a feeling of unease trickled down his back with every step he took. Would it be this step that killed him? Or the next? Still, he didn't dare stop moving. There was nothing the Gamemakers hated more than boring tributes.

Blight thought back to the Gamemaker trick with the backpacks and felt angry all over again. Every viewer in Panem must have been laughing at him for lugging around a backpack full of rocks for _nothing_.

He shook his head as he remembered running all those miles thinking with every step that the pack had been worth risking his life for in the bloodbath and kicked a rock at his feet with a swift vengeance. The Gamemakers were probably still loving how he lost it and threw a fit when he discovered that he had absolutely nothing of value. _Glad y'all find me so entertaining._ Not.

Without thinking he licked his dry lips with his parched tongue, remembering one of the trainer's warning that dehydration killed quicker than starvation and infection. The trainer was right, he realized.

In all honesty the writhing hunger in his stomach actually paled in comparison to the itch in his throat and the ringing in his head. It was too tempting to go inside a building for water, but he steeled himself and kept walking because he risk of hidden Gamemaker traps outweighed his thirst.

An hour passed and he couldn't stand the burning thirst anymore. The temptation to quench the scratchiness in his throat won out against reason as images of streams and cool water danced across his head until he decided that the maddening pain of thirst was probably worse than meeting a quick end. The decision to walk into the nearest building almost came as a relief.

He staggered in front of a rectangular building with glass doors which automatically slid open as he approached. He blinked in surprise and jumped backwards, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him. It could very well be, but through his desperate haze he decided to just go with it and peered inside. No traps clearly visible, but there could be hidden ones yet.

He took a cautious step inside, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger, but no traps were sprung. In previous years Blight had seen Gamemaker traps of giant boulders tumbling towards tributes, poisoned darts shooting from holes in the walls, and closing walls which crushed tributes between them whenever the arena included enclosed spaces so he was wary.

A few more hesitant footsteps and still nothing. He paused in his tracks and began to look around, and for a second managed to completely forget about his thirst when his groggy mind registered the supplies.

Energy bars and bottled water, enough food to last him days filled the shelves. He turned his attention to the other products the store had to offer. Gauze, first aid kits, it was a druggist, he realized seeing row after row of pill bottles. So it turned out he also lucked out in terms of medicine in case he ever got injured, it was like he hit the double jackpot!

Suddenly he was grateful for the large size of the pack. But what to take? His eyes roamed from aisle to aisle greedily before he remembered what he initially came for and grabbed a bottle of water to finally satisfy his thirst. Relief flooded his body the second the water touched his lips and dribbled down the corners of his mouth.

Halfway through the bottle the cautious side won again and he realized it might be poisoned.

He almost spat the water out, but it was too late, what was done was done. Plus it tasted so sweet and refreshing that he was past caring. After drinking a second bottle with no ill effects he decided that at least this corner of the arena was a safe space.

He grabbed a roll of bandages, a bottle of white pills labelled as painkillers, a bottle of disinfectant, several creams, and… what else would he need? There were so many bottles of pills, tablets and capsules the choice was dizzying!

A strip of purple tablets caught his eye and he walked closer to inspect it . " _Vi-a-gra,"_ he said slowly. He was too far-sighed to make out the smaller print but the bright colour of the tablets made him assume that they would be helpful in the future so he took several packages.

With his pack now full to bursting, he headed back out onto the streets, optimistic about his chances at outlasting the other tributes, maybe even winning as long as he didn't run into anybody.

He had seen Anya's face in the sky yesterday, and after he had registered the knowledge that his own partner died in the bloodbath, he had felt nothing. The truth was that she was nothing more than just some girl that he had shared a District with.

It was cold but his first thought was that she was one less tribute he'd have to face. The clinical distance and callousness scared him. He shook his head vigorously as if to erase the thought from his head. Should he really feel guilty for not mourning her death? Only one person was getting out alive, and distancing himself from his feelings wouldn't be a bad thing in terms of surviving the Games.

.

As he walked on, Blight noticed the wind beginning to pick up. It wasn't noticeable at first, just smoke in the columns drifting a bit, then smaller tree branches swaying. Eventually, it got to the point where Blight had to keep one hand on his head to keep his hat from flying off.

He began to have trouble continuing as he fought against the wind to struggle forward, grateful for the heavy pack that kept him grounded. The ferocity of the wind increased suddenly and debris swirled on the ground before flying away. A yowl of a cat came behind him and he turned around to see a mangy tom paddling in the air before it was swept off in a hurricane in the distance.

Blight yelped and panicked at the sight of the grey swirling mass of wind teetering wildly from side to side. Hurricanes in the Sticks were bad news, their flimsy mobile homes weren't attached to the ground like real houses were so the high-speed winds meant complete and utter devastation and days of picking up the pieces afterwards.

Hurricanes didn't happen often but as soon as the announcement was made on radio or television, they would have to stop whatever they were doing to evacuate underground in the nearest bunker to wait it out.

In his panic Blight looked around desperately. Semi-detached townhouses of red, yellow, and brown brick flanked either side of him. But where was the nearest underground bunker?

He didn't have time to think, the roar of the hurricane was getting louder and it was only a matter of time until he was swept away as well. In a split-second decision Blight dashed into the nearest house, fortunately for him the door was mercifully unlocked, and he clamored inside and slammed the door shut.

_Crash!_

He turned to see a window shatter from the howling winds, the yellow curtains billowing and bits of glass swirling around the room. Blight raised his arms in front of his face to shield himself from the broken glass, feeling the shards fly into his arms while the wind whistled in his ears. The furniture began rattling dangerously as well, he knew couldn't stay even here for much longer. He spied a staircase leading downstairs to the basement and charged for it.

Despite the sting and trickles of blood from glass embedded in his arms he breathed a sigh of relief once he was downstairs and the sound of the wind quieted to a whisper.

Below ground it was pitch-black darkness and Blight couldnt see his own hand in front of his face. He placed his hand to the wall and felt around until his fingers knocked against the light switch and flicked it on. A bare lightbulb on the ceiling flickered to life, casting the dimly lit room into hazy shadows.

Once his eyes adjusted to the sudden illumination he realized he was in someone's cellar. Barrels on wooden shelves, bottles of wine, jars of preserves neatly lined the cracked grey walls under a thin blanket of dust. He crept silently along the dirt floor, running his hands along the previous owner's goods until he found it.

_Well sweet beans and collard greens!_

He could barely conceal his yelp of delight. A rifle, a real M1903 Springfield, just like the one he had at home! He turned it over in his hands, hardly daring for it to be real. It was as if the Gamemakers read his mind, but how did they possibly know unless….

A lightbulb flicked in his head. Of course, the Gamemakers knew he was a good shot and they built this arena just for him! Blight licked his lips fervently, it was almost too good to be true. He really had a chance at this.

He wasn't going to run and hide anymore, Blight decided as he cocked the gun back and closed one eye so that his target came into focus. The weapon gave him an entirely new perspective on the Games. He knew he had tough opponents left to face, but he was no longer prey that could only run and hide or take desperate measures.

Just a twitch of his finger, he pulled the trigger and his target exploded in a burst of white foam, champagne dripping from down the shelf to its shattered glass below.

The hunted had turned into the hunter.

**Sabine Delgado, District 6 Female**

Sabine stifled a yawn under her lavender eye mask and silk sheets. She slept in a four poster canopy bed in a pink and white striped wallpapered room, a similar design to her own room back at home.

Beneath the covers she wasn't wearing her usual pink nightie but tights, an oversized striped sweater and a knit cowl, the scratchiness reminding herself of where she was and her current situation. But for an arena this place actually wasn't too bad. She hoped she could stay here for as long as possible.

Yesterday when the gong sounded at the bloodbath she had simply ran from the start of the Games without even bothering to go for a pack, though she had been sorely tempted. Her father had made her promise not to set even a foot in the bloodbath saying he would send her all the supplies she needed.

Without opening her eyes she reached under her pillow to feel for the supplies that would ensure her survival. A multi-purpose army knife, dried fruit, rope, and canteen tied in a large handkerchief. It wasn't much, but it was enough for now, especially since the kitchen of the house had been fully stocked.

She had actually made herself a dinner of pasta primavera the other night, though halfway through she had realized that the lights were on like a beacon for the Careers and dropped her fork mid-bite in her haste to turn off the lights. Nobody had found her though, the arena was just too big. Hopefully it meant that she was safe, at least for a little while.

Finally, when she couldn't stay in bed any longer she pulled open her eye mask and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She blinked slowly, the fuzzy room coming into focus.

The pink and white walls had apparently turned brown overnight and seemed to be writhing for some reason. She yawned and pulled the veil around the bed open and stepped into her shoes. When she looked up and her eyes roamed to the walls she realized that she had been staring at- _cockroaches!_ Giant ones, the size of her hand, trailed inside the room, buzzing on the walls!

She let out an ear-splitting scream and ran out the room. She heard a buzzing sound around her ear and made the mistake of looking behind her to see the swarm of cockroaches on translucent wings, flying straight towards her.

Tears began to fill in her eyes, blurring her vision as she ran out of the house and into the streets, wondering why her life had turned into a nightmare.

Why were the Gamemakers being so mean to her? The Capitol audience adored her, even before she had been Reaped. Even as far back as her mother's pregnancy her birth had been a highly-anticipated event. Speculation over her name and gender had been splashed on glossy magazines with polls for voting, she knew because her parents kept copies around the house.

And after she was born everybody wanted to know Sylvester Delgado's daughter. She had grown up with tiaras and tutus and blinding white lights flashing off in her face. _"Smile Sabine! Give us a picture!"_ The paparazzi would snap picture after picture of her family on every outing in the Capitol. Later her mother, impossibly graceful and beautiful would show her the magazine features. "There's you see," she pointed at the cover featuring the four of them, a perfect, photogenic family smiling happily for the cameras.

But that was back when she was too young to know better and the Capitol was all fun and games and happy people in pretty costumes who snapped her picture and gave her candy that her mother took away later and told her not to eat.

She used to beg her father to let her come to the Capitol with him when he left every summer for work, but he had always shook his head without looking her in the eye and told her to be a good girl and stay home with mamma. Back then she had wondered why he looked so sad before going to the Capitol and looked even sadder when he came back.

It was when she grew up and learned about the Hunger Games that she realized her father was disappearing every year to mentor two teenagers to their deaths, only to return home with a slump in his shoulders and sadness on his face. Upon returning home her father would lock himself in his office for hours. " _Your father just needs some alone time, cara mia,"_ her mother had said when she asked why he ignored her.

The year that she finally learned the reason for his reclusive behavour she made him a cup of his favourite cappuccino, (light froth, chocolate shavings on the top) and knocked on his office door. When he opened the door his eyes were red-rimmed like he had been crying, but his expression had softened at the sight of his young daughter, doe-eyed on her tippy toes offering the cup with both hands. "Thank you _principessa,_ " he had smiled. And she had smiled back.

.

Back in the present the cockroaches had suddenly stopped in their tracks and began flying in the opposite direction. She dropped on her hands and knees, panting and trying to catch her breath. A silver parachute came floating down with a single cracker. Her father had been sending them nearly every waking hour, as if to say _I'm right here Sabine, I love you._

She crammed it in her mouth, realizing halfway that she had tears streaming down her face. The Hunger Games would be hard, there was no doubt about it, but she and her father would make it through together as a team, or that's what she hoped.

Wiping her eyes with the corner of her sleeve, Sabine finally looked up at her surroundings. She blinked to make sure her eyes weren't fooling her. There, past a dented and folded metal door was an actual garage.

She got to her feet and stepped inside, gasping in wonder at the sight of all the cars sprawled in various states of repair. It was like someone flicked a switch in her head, her father's hobby was repairing and driving vintage cars, and everybody who subscribed to _Victor Monthly_ knew that she did the Gamemakers must have known and put the garage there on purpose.

Of course they did, she decided, she was Sylvester Delgado's daughter and they would want to make sure she was able to put on a show. Her heart began to race as she realized that the arena was built just for her, that the Gamemakers wanted to see her win. Her eyes scanned the garage hungrily until it fell on a red car on the far left.

"A Striker Z!" she raced over and laid a hand reverently on the crimson red sports car, a sleek vintage model with a white lightning bolt running from its sides in a Z pattern.

She picked up a wrench and rolled under the car on a metal creeper. The cars had given her an entirely new perspective on the Games. She knew she had tough opponents left to face. But she was no longer merely prey that could only run and hide or takes desperate measures. She wasn't going to run and hide anymore, not when she had a chance, a real chance.

* * *

**A/N Stay tuned for the next chapter: The Muttation Complication!**

**From now on pay attention to the chapter titles as they have a pattern in what happens and which alliance gets a POV.**

**Still in play:**

**All Careers**

**Dexter**

**Cabel**

**Tally**

**Sabine**

**Blight**

**D8F**

**D9M**

**D10F**

**D10M**

**Raven**


	10. Chapter 10

  


Chapter 10 The Muttation Complication

**Cabel Ren, District 3 Female**

There was no dawn after nightfall, only weak sunlight which continued to push through the haze of fog and provide a uniform gray light. Cabel yawned and glanced at her sleeping allies, both covered with Dexter's poncho.

They were snoring softly with identical wrinkled frowns on their troubled faces, a sight that made the corners of her mouth turn up just a bit. It was her turn to keep watch after her own sleep had been interrupted by nightmares of the Careers stumbling onto their hiding place and snapping their bodies in half like toothpicks. After about the third time she had woken up Cabel decided to just give up on sleep. _Did anyone actually sleep soundly in the Games when they could die at any second?_ she wondered.

When she felt it was about dawn she made her way out of the alleyway and squinted at the LED clock in the distance.

Seven fifty-five and still foggy in the early morning darkness.

She decided to let Dexter and Tally sleep a bit more before waking them.

A soft hiss from behind made her turn around. Cabel's eyes widened as she saw a single feral cat approach, knocking the lid off a dented garbage can in the narrow alley. It was a dirty mutt, yellow tail bent, one ear bitten off, back arched and blinking its wide green eyes.

Several more in the pack appeared slowly from the shadows, equally feral, some baring their teeth and hissing. _One, two, four, seven,_ so many that she couldn't keep track.

"Uh oh," she muttered. "Guys, wake up," she hissed, dropping to her knees and shaking her allies awake but not taking her eyes off the cats.

They groaned and she quickly pulled them to their feet. Still woozy and disoriented, they tried to blink the sleep out of their eyes.

"Is it morning already?" Dexter yawned.

"Yes, but not only that, but look!" she pointed to the advancing felines and backed out into the alleyway and into the streets.

Tally and Dexter followed her gaze and finally spotting the feral cats, snapped into action and took off after her. As soon as they started to run the cats followed like blurs, all agile limbs and rippling backs.

They broke out in a full-out sprint and managed to maintain it for a good ten minutes before their legs began to wobble and shake.

After turning one final corner and the three of them, unused to physical exercise fell over as their legs gave out from sheer exhaustion.

"Did we lose them?" Cabel panted.

Tally, clutching a stitch on her side looked back, seeing only the deserted streets behind them. "Yes, they're all gone."

They took the opportunity to catch their breath and re-assess.

_Where are we?_

The three of them looked around and studied their new surroundings. "If I was pressed to say, I would say we're in some kind of business district," Dexter said slowly.

To their front and back were towering gleaming office buildings which reached to the sky along a uniform grey sidewalk, a suspended platform with a window washer's squeegee and bucket hung mid-way along the reflective windows of a building which overshadowed a smaller one of austere grey. He half-expected to see well-dressed men and women clutching briefcases hurrying up and down the streets to get to their cubicles and settle into work.

From what he had seen this city was separated into large blocks punctuated with street signs, much like District Three was. It was the kind of arena that actually gave the tributes from the more urban districts a distinct advantage seeing as they were accustomed to the layout.

"I don't know about you guys," Tally began nervously, "but this place gives me the heebie jeebies. Something tells me that the mutts purposely led us into a trap."

Cabel cracked her knuckles and stretched her hands behind her back, looking around. She knew what she meant, there was something about this place, it was a sort of crackling static in the air, a tension and emptiness that made her uneasy. She couldn't quite put her finger on what it was but the atmosphere reminded her of one of those black and white horror movies where the main character ended up walking straight into the ax-murderer's den.

The three of them turned to leave but after taking not even five steps the felines suddenly reappeared. Not moving towards them in an aggressive manner, but sitting sidewalk and watching them expectantly. They took another step forward and the mutts arched their backs and hissed. They slowly backed away and the cats relaxed.

_Definitely a Gamemaker trap,_ Cabel thought. But what choice did they have? They were stuck here until the mutts left. Not knowing where else to go, they decided to head into the nearest building, an austere grey tower looming over the entire block.

The door slid open automatically before they touched it, and after hesitating at the entrance, they stepped inside. From the foyer they could see a red carpet edged with gold leading to a luxurious water fountain before a set of closed elevators. Right in front of them was an abandoned receptionist's desk with a gilded obsidian pen facedown in the middle of scrawling a note.

"Should we explore?" Cabel asked timidly.

Her allies nodded, and they continued walking the hallway on the ground floor. They took small steps at a glacial pace, ready to bolt at the first sign of a trap but as each sequential step yielded no danger they slowly let down their guard and increased their pace.

"Wait!" Dexter blurted out. They stopped suddenly in front of a large meeting room.

He dashed inside past the sprawled swivelling chairs to the laptop connected to the projector screen in front of the room and flipped it open eagerly.

"It's a computer," he whispered in awe as he stroked the soft silver edges of screen and ran his hands over the keyboard reverently.

"So?" Tally asked. "Is it going to help us?"

"I told you I did programming back in my district right?" he said excitedly.

"Yeah?" Cabel had no idea where this was going. Dexter had told them that he had developed video games back in District Three but try as might she couldn't see the connection between video games and the Hunger Games.

He booted up the computer and tapped away on the keyboard, browsing the available programs. The Grid was obviously down and there was zero connectivity but he found the Ethernet cable underneath the desk and plugged it in.

"I can use the laptop to try to hack into the Capitol mainframe and access all the cameras in the arena. That way we would have the advantage of knowing where the other tributes are and what Gamemakers traps are coming," he said excitedly. He pushed his glasses back and raked his hands through his hair as if he couldn't believe their good luck. "If it works then we would have a massive advantage over everybody else, we actually have a real chance at this!"

Doubt flashed across Tally's face. "Are you serious? Can you actually do that?"

Cabel was glad that she asked. It wasn't that she doubted his ability, it was just...

_Will the Gamemakers actually let you do that?_ The question went unasked but briefly flitted through everybody's mind. Nobody dared to say it out loud.

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one hand while typing away with the other. "Yeah. I didn't want to brag before, but I was sort of a big deal where I came from." He turned from the glow of the screen to give his allies a sheepish grin. "Not to scare you guys or anything, but back in my school, I was the best of the best when it came to coding."

_Funny, cause I was the best of the best too._

As she watched her ally type away the gears in her head began to turn. She took a step back and looked out the large bay windows. Maybe the Gamemakers somehow knew they were crazy genius and the arena was built just for them.

Her heart beat faster when she realized that yes, that was it, because what could be more entertaining than watching tributes make real use of the resources in the arena? The Gamemakers weren't trying to lead them into a trap, they were trying to _help._

The thought of that gave her a new perspective of the Games. She knew they had tough opponents left to face. But they were no longer merely prey that could only run and hide or take desperate measures. With the Gamemakers and video cameras on their side they had a chance, a real chance.

**Marlin Rodriguez, District 4 Male/Nikolaos "Niko" Egret, District 2 Male**

There was a loud screech as the car rounded a corner sharply. Marlin yanked the wheel frantically in the other direction in an attempt to straighten the vehicle.

"Ugh, we're too loud, we're scaring away all the tributes," Tori complained, red-eyed and irritable from staying up all night.

"Doesn't matter, we're just doing recon, getting a feel for the arena," Niko replied coolly. He rubbed his own eyes and tried to calm his shaking hands, something that always happened when he took soldier pills.

One pill meant one day without sleep and they could take a maximum of three pills in three consecutive days. So far they were all on pill number two.

Everybody responded to the drug differently, Shampoo was wide-eyed and frazzled, practically jumping up and down in her seat. "Well have you guys been even keeping track of everything? The arena's huge and we have no idea where everyone else can be, guys we're never going to find them with all these buildings," she blurted.

"We'll find them," her partner said almost calmly. He crossed his legs elegantly though his fingers drummed the armrest in a shaking staccato. "It's pretty fair though, if we all have guns it to would be too easy in the open outdoors, no?"

Everybody murmured an agreement.

"Turn left here," Niko commanded, "let's see what's across that bridge."

Marlin yanked the steering wheel sharply, slamming everyone to the left. Niko practically fell in Malin's lap, hitting the switches for the windshield wiper, air conditioning and horn simultaneously on the way down, causing them all to jump.

" _Ay Caramba_ ," Marlin muttered, keeping one eye on the road while rapidly pressing buttons and pulling switches on the dashboard. The windows rolled down and the radio turned on, greeting them with Claudius Templesmith's cheery narration of the Games.

_Aaaaand welcome to the second day of the Forty Sixth annual Hunger Games!_

"Wait, everybody shut up!" someone hollared.

The Careers stopped talking and froze.

_After yesterday's bloodbath claiming the lives of eight tributes the Games continues!_

_The inner-District alliance has stumbled upon a vintage Chery V5 and has been combing the arena in vain day and night without sleep for two days now. After fruitlessly driving through the business and red light districts, how long until their next kill?_

_Meanwhile, the boy from Nine has found shelter in the high-rise glass condo. Watching from the rooftop, he tries to gain Intel from his superior vantage point. Is he a dark horse contender in these Games? Find out more after this commercial break!_

A catchy jingle for mascara came on and Niko squinted into the distance.

"There! Across the bridge." He pointed to the high-rise building the radio had described.

The Careers cheered and Marlin stepped on the gas, the car roaring as it sped up across the suspension bridge.

Very soon they emerged on the other side, cruising into an elegant-looking area with white sands and palm trees lining the road, not at all out of place in a Capitol vacation resort photo.

Marlin pulled up to the entrance and yanked the handbrake up, the car screeching to a halt. The six Careers hustled out and the doors of the building slid open automatically for them. They stepped into the foyer of the condo cautiously and did a quick sweep with their eyes.

Marlin looked the room up and down and couldn't help but think of the similarity between the Justice Building back home. Cool tiled floors, paintings of the beach on the walls, elegant red chairs in the waiting area with a few magazines sprawled invitingly on the coffee table. He clutched his unfamiliar gun tighter in the familiar setting and licked his lips nervously. Trust the Gamemakers to lull them into a sense of security, then pull the trawl nets from under their feet.

A small _ding_ rang from the right.

Together, they slowly turned their heads towards the sound. The right of the room was a wall of elevators, shiny metal boxes against the blue marbled walls. When the doors began to open from the centre the Careers blinked in puzzlement as to who it could be.

The doors slowly opened wider and all they could see was their confused faces reflected in the mirrored interior, until they looked down.

It was mutts. Scaly lizard mutts walking on two legs, a mottled greenish-grey with spiked backs and fanned necks hissing menacingly.

"Uh oh," Shampoo muttered, taking a few steps backwards.

The lizard mutts stepped out and blinked, as if unsure of their surroundings and the armed Careers wasted no time springing into action and shooting them down.

_Hsssss!_

Evidently they didn't take too well at being shot at and began to charge at their attackers.

"Back in the car, it's a trap!" Niko shouted.

"Shoulda seen it coming," Tori grunted as she ran out the door, her allies close behind.

They clamoured back inside the car and Marlin pulled out with a squeal.

" _Ay dios mio_ they're fucking chasing us!" Tiki exclaimed.

They looked behind them to see that the mutts were indeed chasing after them, their strange lizard legs pumping frighteningly fast, almost catching up with the car.

"Window's still open aren't they?" Niko snapped from beside the driver's seat.

The Careers turned around and aimed out the window. They unleashed a barrage of bullets shooting them down, the mutts giving a cry of rage when they were blasted away by the impact of the attack.

Marlin, the driver kept his eyes on the road and had no idea how many were left but after a few minutes he was aware of four cannons sounding in quick succession.

As if on instinct he glanced quickly in the rearview mirror. His eyes widened and he almost let go of the steering wheel when he saw what the scene in the reflection.

His four allies, Tiki, Tori, Shampoo and Cologne were all slumped lifelessly in their seats, bullet holes through their necks while their blood began to pool and stain the leather upholstery.

He turned to Niko in the passenger seat and was greeted with a queer smile on his ally's calm face. A cold feeling washed over him as he realized what had just happened.

"Niko, y-you bastard!" he sputtered. "How could you?! What happened to death before dishonor?!"

"We don't need them, not when there's guns in the arena," was Niko's cool reply as he twirled the revolver in his hand casually. "Now stop the car."

Marlin turned to stare him in disbelief, clutching the steering wheel tighter. "How stupid do you think I am? The only reason I don't have a hole through my head too is because _I'm fucking driving_!" he spat.

In less than a second he felt the slam of the cold barrel against his temple, then Niko's colder voice. "I guess you're not as stupid as I thought. Not that it matters, what are you going to do when the car runs out of gas?"

He glanced down at the arrow on the fuel gauge and noticed with horror that it was indeed slowly moving from F to E. Anybody who steered a boat knew what it meant, pretty soon the tank would be empty and-

His heart thudded against his chest when he realized that he was trapped inside a car with a cold-blooded traitor.

With the deafening thumping of his heart drowning out whatever Niko was saying to him, Marlin pushed through his paralyzing shock and anger to look out the window, desperately looking for something, anything that would give him a way out.

Despite the thousands of emotions clamouring through his head screaming for attention he saw it, it was so obvious too. His only chance at saving himself stretched out from coast to coast like a glimmering blue sheet waving at him invitingly.

Snapping back to the present he wrenched the steering wheel violently to the right, causing Niko to fall on the ground and drop his gun, cursing profanities as his hands fumbled under the seats in search of his weapon.

The car lurched to the side and Niko's fingers had just closed around his revolver when he raised his head to glance out the window. No grey expanse of road greeted him, only puzzling blue.

He was aware of a tilting sensation, and only when the railing of the bridge came into view and disappeared did he realize that Marlin had driven the car right off the bridge and they were falling straight down into the ocean.

_Fuck!_ Niko took a deep breath and braced himself for the impact.

The car hit the surface with a resounding _splash!_

In less than an instant water rushed in through the open windows, pulling the car underneath the tides until it sank to the ocean floor.

Underwater, Marlin yanked the door open and tumbled out. Niko followed and paddled after him, pulling the trigger at his rapidly receding back.

_Blllllt!_

The bullet blasted out of his gun, water tunnelling in a long burst but Marlin was off like a shot. Luckily for him the water resistance slowed the bullet like a wall and by the time the bullet had left the revolver Marlin's back was too far away to reach.

Niko tried to paddle after him but it was no use when Marlin was the stronger swimmer. Eventually his lungs felt like they were about to burst and he dove upwards, breaking the surface and looked around. Marlin was nowhere to be seen, meaning he was still underwater. _Stupid fish-boy,_ he thought bitterly as he swam towards the shore. The grim youth climbed out, staggered to his feet soaking wet, still clutching his gun panting.

He pushed clump of dark hair out of his eyes and gazed out to the water. Eventually Marlin popped out, just a speck in the distance. In his attempt to escape from Niko he must have chanced the opposite shore to the other side of the city. Too bad.

His golden eyes narrowed at Marlin's receding head and he fingered his gun as he contemplated how close he was to killing him too.

" _Tch_."

.

An hour later the boy from District Four made it to the other side. Marlin clasped the rocky ledge and pulled himself up with trembling arms. He rested his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

How could he? How could he betray the alliance on the second day? _How could he have no honour!_

His breath came out in shuddering gasps as his anger and disbelief rose. It was an unwritten rule amoung the Careers that death came before dishonour because no true victory came from dirty underhanded tactics.

_Only cowards lie and cheat and kill their allies in their sleep, the truly courageous rise to the challenge to volunteer and bring honour to their District._

He clenched his hands into fists and choked back a sob as thousands of memories from the past threatened to overflow into the future. "Niko, you bastard I will hunt you down and make you pay!"

* * *

**A/N Yeah** **Oxenstierna D. Yuki-Rin got it right, it's hipster clothing!** **After reading good writing from others my own seems... really icky XD. I've reached the level where I'm good enough to see things that are bad in my writing but I'm not good enough to fix them. I dunno this is my first book-length story, maybe I'll get better with practice and come back in a year to edit.**

**Announcement:** **Anticipate a short 15k word story of Mr. And Mrs Everdeen getting together, interactions with Mr. And Mrs. Mellark, and young Katniss in around March. I'll also be posting the first chapter of my Hunger Games Origins story (the first chapter is titled 'Erik', please be excited) around then because it does have a (very small ironic) parallel to the Mr. Everdeen story.**

**Anyway stay tuned for next week's chapter: Bird of Prey! I've had predictions that Blight will ally himself with Raven or Marlin, let's just see what happens ',:)**

**Still in play:**

**Niko**

**Dexter**

**Cabel**

**Marlin**

**Tally**

**Sabine**

**Blight**

**D8F**

**D9M**

**D10F**

**D10M**

**Raven**


	11. Chapter 11

  


Chapter 11 Bird of Prey

**Bobby Jean "Blight" Oakley, District 7 Male**

Out in the open, not even trying to conceal himself Blight strolled down the streets hunting for tributes. He made no effort to soften his footsteps or hide his presence.

Yesterday he had seen the faces of four of the Careers in the sky and practically let out a cheer that four of his toughest competitors were already eliminated. With a rifle in his hand and only two Careers left he was certain that he could actually win.

He caught his reflection in the window of a jewelry shop, looking scruffy but not as scruffy as usual back at home. He stood a bit straighter and scowled, trying to look tough.

Who was left? The boys from Two and Four were probably angry at the loss of their allies and working together, perhaps the alliance between the girl from Five and the tributes from Three that he saw in the lunchroom were still intact. Then there were the pretty girls from Six and Eight- not that he was too worried about them. The boy from Nine, both from Ten and the boy from Twelve… he was willing to bet money they weren't as well armed as he was and would fall easily with a spray of bullets and then-and then… he could go home and his entire District would celebrate.

He would live one of those big houses in Victor's Village and his family wouldn't have to work another day in their lives sweating and batting off flies trying to fill up their assigned plot with trees. He felt a big silly grin spread across his face as he imagined the look on his ma's face when he would take her by the arm and usher her into her new home in the lap of luxury.

A low rumbling out of nowhere broke him out of his reverie. He closed his eyes and listened closely, trying to determine where the sound was coming from. Within seconds though the sound became louder and louder until pinppinting the source of the noise became completely unnecessary. When his eyes popped open again the only thing filling his view was a shiny red sports car speeding up and racing towards him.

Without hesitation, he fired a spray of bullets right at the windshield, causing the glass to crack and burst and leaving a large hole on the passenger side. Running away, he shot a few more at the driver's seat but strangely no one was there and the bullets only embedded themselves in the seat. He cursed under his breath. The driver must have ducked at the last second.

The car didn't slow, but turned a corner and he chased after it, shooting the rear. The tires screeched as the car made a u-turn, once again heading straight towards Blight, but instead of running away, he raced towards the car, jumped up on the hood, and rolled inside through the hole in the windshield. Before he landed in the passenger seat, he felt a hand clutch the length of his rifle, pushing it upwards and away. After a brief tussle and several bullets pinging into the roof of the car he found himself face to face with the wild-eyed sultry beauty from Six. All the fight seemed to go out of her eyes when she saw the animosity on his face as if she knew he would have no mercy.

Finally wrenching the rifle from her hands, he held the it against her forehead, finger to the trigger, and hesitated.

The air was punctuated with their ragged breathing and with his rifle against her temple he could actually feel the thump of her heart beating through the muzzle. He willed himself to pull the trigger but his finger and wouldn't budge. Both of them were frozen in place, waiting for him to kill her, but he didn't. Blight wondered he was having such a hard time moving his index finger, and realized it was because she wasn't some cockatrice mutt, she was a _person_.

_My name is Sabine._

_My favourite colour is pink._

_I'm scared of spiders._

_When I was little I wanted to be a racecar driver in the Capitol._

He couldn't do it, for all his talk, and bravado he thought he could do it but something stopped him from pulling the trigger, and it was a sense of morality he never knew he had.

"Well," she panted, strands of limp hair curling across her red face, "what are you waiting for?"

Blight lowered his rifle hesitantly. "I can't," he mumbled. "Can't kill another person."

She fell back in her seat and let out a sigh of relief, having escaped death by a hair. "Me neither."

"Then what the hell were you doing with that car, tryin' to run me over?" he demanded.

"I wasn't, honest! I was hoping to drive right by you, but then you started shooting at me, and I panicked and tried to drive away and you still followed me, what would you have done?"

Blight mumbled an apology and stared at his feet. In all honesty he couldn't blame her, considering what he had said to her during training. He would have done the same thing in her shoes.

"So what were you doing so far, were you the one who killed the Careers?" she demanded.

"Naw, wasn't me," he mumbled. "Didn't see another tribute till you."

She nodded and looked down. "Yeah, me too. And I don't plan to," she said quietly, just loud enough for him to hear.

He cocked his head. "How're yew gonna win then?"

She looked around nervously, then gestured for him to come closer. She cupped a hand around his ear to whisper, "I was planning to just drive off past the arena, out of the Games until I reached one of the out-district countries."

He blinked. The out-district countries? He had heard stories of them, but everyone (well, except for Lester but he didn't count) agreed that they had been long since annihilated. Outside of district boundaries, all that remained was rubble and the existing forest retaking the land, or so he had been told.

"Are you... serious?" he asked slowly.

She bit her lip and nodded.

"Well," he began slowly, the gears in his head turning. "Since this year the Gamemakers traps are probably deadlier than the actual tributes we should team up, y'know because tributes with allies always do better than tributes alone." He gave her a meaningful look.

"You want to come along?" She studied him carefully, trying to gauge what he was really saying.

"Yup. Before I was just walkin' around hoping to run into someone to shoot, but frankly I like your idea a whole lot better," he replied.

"You...you don't think it's a crazy idea?"

A thousand thoughts ran through his head and half of them were about how it wouldn't work, but half of them were hope that it would. But then that would mean Blight would never see his family again, he realized, and giving up the big house and lifetime of comfort by forfeiting in the Capitol's game.

It was a hard choice, try to win or go with Sabine? In the end Blight decided that there were no guarantees in the Hunger Games and the second he was Reaped he basically had all but disappeared from his family's life anyway.

"Hell yeah I do, but it's worth a try right?" He gave her the smallest of smiles, which she returned.

**Raven Everdeen, District 12 Male**

_-Tch tch tch-_

Blackbirds squatting on branches and perched precariously on clotheslines cocked their heads at the sound and watched the boy work.

The grind of saw against metal was the only sound in the otherwise deserted ghost-town of crumbling grey tenements. Standing at a carpentry table inside the folded metal door of a garage he stepped out for only a moment to squint at the slowly setting sun and quickly turned back to his work. Something had managed to kill four Careers, four of the strongest contenders yesterday and the sooner he was armed the better.

He hummed a tune under his breath as he worked.

_Now I think I understand,_

_How this world can overcome a man_

Raven's right arm ached and sweat ran off his brow into his eyes but didn't dare stop.

On the first day he had managed to grab a backpack and high-tail it out of the bloodbath. After putting as much distance between himself and the Careers as possible he had opened up his pack only to discover it was nothing but useless rocks.

At first he had been disappointed, but then he quickly realized that his surroundings were richer in materials than any pack could be. So he got creative. By the time the anthem had sounded on the first day, he had collected several lengths of metal that he found on the ground in front of a weed-overrun yard with a shopping cart overturned. Then he had pulled down a clothesline, wheels included and fashioned himself a homemade bow.

And not a bad one either, he thought, testing the tension of the string.

After searching for hours for something he could use as arrowheads he had discovered a carpenter's workshop, garage door opened invitingly. He had grown up on his father's stories about what their ancestors used as possible arrowheads during times of scarcity, and sharpened keys were way up there on the list of make-shift points.

And so for the last couple of days he had been doing little more than painstakingly sawing the heads of keys he had collected from various tenements into sharp points.

When the final key was sharpened he unclamped it from his work surface and brought it up to the light, inspecting the balance and symmetry. The deadly point drew a drop of blood when he pressed it against his thumb, bringing a satisfied smile to his tired face. He was glad for the cameras now. He wanted the sponsors to see he was resourceful enough to fashion his open weapons, that he was a good bet because if he was willing to arm himself, he was willing to fight.

He sat down on a wooden stool and glanced at what he had stowed under the work table. In terms of supplies he had picked up a rough brown cloak-something he was grateful for because he was barely dressed in a muscle shirt and ripped jeans that made up his 'uniform', two bottles of water, a pocketknife, and various tins and packets of food.

During the past few days he had also managed to come up with dozen sharpened keys, some string, feathers, and glue. He supposed he could whittle sticks from trees for arrow shafts if he really had to, but a sense of foreboding had been creeping up on him ever since he saw the Careers in the sky and he had the feeling that the sooner his crafting was done, the better.

He stepped out of the garage and turned to the sky. "Any chance of some arrow shafts?" he called.

Not one minute later, a silver parachute holding dozen long uniform wooden shafts came floating down gently.

He grinned and raised three fingers to his lips, then in the air. "Thanks Maddy," he called. In the past forty-five years District 12 had exactly one victor, an old woman who won back in the days before the term Career was even coined.

_Back then it was different, she explained sadly. No one was willing kill another tribute, we were all in it together. We thought that if we did nothing they would get bored and send us home._

" _But they didn't?"_

" _No. They did nothing as well. They left us there in the arena, and we starved. I never had to kill a single person, I just had to survive."_

_... Raven looked away, disappointment etched on his face._

" _I'm sorry, but I'm no help in today's Games. The only advice I have is to stay alive."_

With the new arrow shafts acquired, he finished fletching just when it became dark. He packed up and stepped outside when the anthem sounded and paused to look at the sky.

No faces appeared and the anthem sounded again. His mouth tightened in a grim line as he slung his bow across his body. No deaths today, but who knows what could happen tomorrow?

Suddenly, he heard a low growl behind him. He whirled around to see a single dog muttation, an ugly rottweiler with pitch-black eyes and long fangs stalking through the shadows.

_Hhhhhrrrr_

Seemed like the Gamemakers wanted him to put his handicrafts to the test.

He nocked his bow with one of his homemade arrows and let fly, making his first kill in the Games. The rottweiler howled as the arrow pierced its body but was silenced as a second one pierced his neck. Raven frowned. It wasn't his usual clean shot through the eye, but it would do.

He retrieved his arrows from the still body and turned away with a whip of his cloak and a grim face belying the thudding excitement in his chest. He strode past the border of the neighbourhood into the next, turning around one last time to gaze at the place that allowed him to build his bow.

His weapon gave him an entirely new perspective on the Games. He knew he had tough opponents left to face. But he was no longer prey that runs and hides or takes desperate measures. He had a chance, a real chance and as long as he had a bow and arrows, he was going to play to win.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, rereading my writing, I realize that it's devastatingly bad and pacing is too rushed XD, plus no one's reading it. If I was the type of person who wrote chapter by chapter this would be the point where I give up and abandon the story but since I've already written the rest I'll keep posting weekly and come back when my level is better and rewrite this.**

**Question: can anybody recognize the District 12 mentor's advice?**

**Next week's chapter (we're at the halfway point!) : Hope.**

**Tributes still in play:**

**Niko**

**Dexter**

**Cabel**

**Marlin**

**Tally**

**Sabine**

**Blight**

**D8F**

**D9M**

**D10F**

**D10M**

**Raven**


	12. Chapter 12

  


Chapter 12 Hope

**Isaac "Ike" Paylor, District 8 Factory Worker**

Hunched down on his wooden stool Ike Paylor squinted at the button positioned over the shirt collar. Satisfied, he pulled a lever on the machine and in less than a second the button was neatly stitched to the fabric.

The next shirt rolled into position and he repeated the process again. And again. And again, for _hours._ He wasn't alone in his task, side by side so close they brushed elbows were dozens of other workers buzzing like bees, heads bent over busy at work perched uniformly on their stools.

The flickering lights above their heads were dim as if to obscure the lint and bits of thread that littered the unswept floor while the three ceiling fans covered with layers of dust hummed quietly. Otherwise, the still air was punctured with the sharp staccato of their machines as the workers hustled to keep up with the frantic pace.

The work was back-breaking, finger numbing, and rage-inducing. Ike's back ached from sitting in one position for hours, but he dared not get up and cause the line to stop. His vision began to blur in front of his eyes as he fell into an exhausted haze and a headache began coming on. Ike flexed his shoulders, feeling the pop and rubbed his bleary eyes.

Why did the shifts have to be so long? For a moment he almost regretted refusing his Capitol father's hush-money, but then he remembered what he was fighting for.

If he was able to become a Capitolite, and not just an average civilian either but the head of the Special Operations Police he would have the power to actually _do_ things, starting by cracking down on the president and his corrupt cronies.

He would get to the bottom of why they needed to produce all this -his eyes swept to the growing pile of completed shirts- _crap_ for a population as small as Panem. District Eight produced so much clothing every year that they could clothe everyone three times over, yet shirts and dresses made from tessera grain sacks were the norm in Reapings from poorer Districts. Where was it all going? Even the Capitol couldn't be using up all their production, there should be more than enough to go around if things were distributed equitably.

The only thing standing in his way from becoming the voice the Districts so desperately need in the Capitol was his father's stubborn refusal to take the paternity test the public was clamouring for him to take. Ike licked his lips and wiped the sweat beading on his brow, he knew that his father had to cave to the demands of the public soon enough, he couldn't keep avoiding the media pressure forever.

He had been so close, but then the Hunger Games began and all the tabloid reporters and journalists had abandoned him to cover the Games instead, apologizing and promising to get back to his story once the Games were over. But who knew if it would be too late and Ike Paylor's claim would turn into old news by then?

Around him the other men who had mastered the mind-numbingly boring job for years were sneaking glances in his direction when they thought he wasn't looking and whispered in hushed tones about District Eight's chances in the Games this year.

Their boy went down straight in the bloodbath but their girl was still in it and by the looks of it, was still going strong. He had only spoken to her briefly after the Reaping to ensure her help, but it was enough. Her name was Lyssa Sullivan, she was from the merchant class and she had an angelic face but a wicked body, sexy all the way.

The most important fact about her though, was that she needed to make it the top eight. Because once she did the media would descend on District Eight again to interview family and friends and significant individuals in the District, coverage for Ike's case would resume and he could continue his media attack.

Suddenly the steam whistle at the foreman's station blew, interrupting his thoughts. "Everybody, there's going to be a mandatory broadcast!" the foreman shouted and gestured for them to herd into the breakroom.

Grateful for the break he plopped down on the plastic cafeteria seats and accepted the styrofoam cup of lukewarm-water that someone pushed in his hands.

"Hey Ike, you holding up okay?"

He turned towards his friend, the typical brown-haired, brown eyed youth from District Eight.

"Yeah."

"Nice, don't kill yourself though. If you need to take a break the foreman's not gonna say anything, everybody needs you to be alive."

Ike looked down at his rough calloused hands in embarrassment. Everywhere he went it was the same, people telling him he should be tucked away kept safe, as if he were some porcelain vase that was put on a pedestal.

"How soon until your dad caves and names you as the next leader of the Capitol's Police Force?" his friend asked. There was no doubt in his mind of the legitimacy of Ike's claims to his birthright. If they had harboured any disbelief, nobody in District Eight would say it out loud.

Ike suspected it was because they desperately needed to believe it, that somebody would finally bring change to the bleak and depressing District Eight where life revolved around little more than garment sweatshops and hunger.

Ike shrugged. "I dunno. Definitely not until the Hunger Games frenzy dies down, nobody's even paying attention to me right now because Games news is crowding everything else out."

His friend sighed and leaned back in his seat. "Is it just me or has this year's Games been getting more mandatory broadcasts than usual?"

"Yeah," Ike slumped his elbow on the filthy table, " I know what you mean man, this year's Games has been intense, if I was a Capitolite I probably wouldn't be keeping up with anything else either."

A slow gloom settled between them.

"But the oldest Randall girl's turning eighteen soon, and if the Capitol accepts her as the leader of the Special Ops before you make your claim they'll probably lose interest in you."

The statement hit him like a punch in the chest, only because it was true. Ike chewed his bottom lip. Cressida had warned him about that, fading into obscurity. Capitolites were as fickle as the changing fashion trends and he was flavour of the month now, but later…?

"Quiet, it's starting," someone called.

Ike turned his attention to the wall-mounted big screen television where to his surprise they were showing District Eight's own tribute.

So far the pretty wraith-like blonde from Eight had been slinking through the narrow alleys and shimmying through tight spaces to set up her traps, right at home in such an urban arena. She was careful to hide her footprints and erase any evidence of her presence when she left a building, like a cat burgler the commentators said, pulling up a picture of some sensual television star in a skin-tight catsuit as a comparison.

Right now she had a myriad of odds and ends under her arm and Ike had no idea what she planned to do with them, but it was the Hunger Games and he had a sinking feeling he would find out soon.

Holding a roll of kite string in one hand and razor-sharp throwing knives in the other, she set invisible trip lines and traps across several doorways of buildings in what the cheerful commentators referred to as the 'shopping district'.

From the corner map on the screen Ike could see another tribute rapidly approaching. Lyssa paused for a moment, ears pricked for any sign of danger as she froze at the sound of footsteps and scampered up a fire escape and finally ducked out of sight.

Everybody watched as the boy from Nine wandered into her territory, awkwardly clutching a gun he was clearly unfamiliar with to his chest, his eyes flitting back and forth nervously.

Everybody held their breath when he opened the door into a bakery and his foot grazed the thin wire, springing Lyssa's trap.

The next series of event transpired so perfectly it almost seemed staged. A salvo of throwing knives came raining down over his head forcing him to jump out of the way, only for his foot to land on the marbles scattered on the slick oiled floor causing him to stumble backwards, arms windmilling and his shoulder grazing the razor-sharp piano wire strung at varying heights around the room..

"Augh!" he cried as he clutched his stinging shoulder and went tumbling down, soaking himself with the slick and greasy gasoline that coated the floor when he landed with a smack.

Muttering obscenities, he got up and searched the small dwelling but was unable to come up with the culprit and growing more and more frustrated every minute. What he didn't know was that she was watching him from the fire escape on the building next door.

She waited until he stepped back outside and silently pulled out a box of matches from her dress. He continued to stroll down the street muttering obscenities, not even bothering to look up. With eyes narrowed she drew a single match and struck it against the brick wall. _R-r-ratch!_

The boy from Nine continued walking towards her, unbeknownst to the fact that she was standing above him. She waited until he was almost right below her and let the match slip slowly, ever so slowly from her fingers.

You could hear a pin drop in the room as every factory worker in District Eight took a sharp intake of breath as they tracked the match's downward trajectory.

The result was immediate. The boy literally burst into flames, his cries of pain and agony lit against the blazing red flames.

Up high on the fire escape, Lyssa watched him burn, watched his skin blacken as he fell to his knees and his body slump lifelessly to the ground. The cannon went off and there was no change in expression at all on her beautiful face.

There was silence in the factory breakroom as they all processed what had just happened. Then one person jumped out of his seat and began to applaud. Slowly, the rest of the room joined in, whooping and celebrating their tribute's kill.

Because with that, she was one step closer to making the top eight, one step closer until the reporters would be dispatched to their District. Ike knew he should be thrilled but the macabre image of the boy being burned alive wouldn't leave his eyes.

He blinked rapidly and rubbed his temple. This was what he was fighting for, to use his power in the Capitol to stop the Hunger Games and prevent future gruesome deaths, but the knowledge that he just benefited from the brutality of the Games was causing dissonance in his head and he struggled to cheer or cry. Ike shook his head, trying to forget about it.

"Alright everyone, back to work," the foreman clapped his hands and everyone grumbled and returned back to their machines. Nothing new, but this time there was more than a little resentment.

.

Ever since he had come forward with his claim as the heir of the Capitol's Special Ops there was a change in District Eight, he could feel it in the air, like the roiling boil of a pot about to run over, starting with the Reaping.

Usually District Eight, defeated and subordinate, submitted its two children without a fight. But that year there was palpable anger hanging thick in the air, almost bordering fury at the sight of two of their own being sent to die.

For a long time they were ashamed of doing nothing, and maybe it was Ike's claim to the Capitol gave them the courage to _not_ send two kids to die but it had started with a muttered complaint that buzzed through the crowd and quickly escalated to protest.

For the first time ever, when the Peacekeepers moved in to quiet the unruly crowd it pressed back instead of retreating. It was as if District Eight had woken from a weary stupor and finally realized they didn't have to do this. Once they had opened their eyes nothing could ever turn the tide and return District to the way it was before.

And in District Eight, the name Paylor became synonymous with _hope_. Never before had the us vs the Capitol been more apparent and overnight everybody became closer. The street-gangs of District Eight had decided to come to a truce and organized themselves into teams that would escort Ike from safe house to safe house, shielding him from the Peacekeepers. Always a different factory every day, a different safe house every night staying one step ahead of the Capitol's hired knives. That's what his mother had arranged for him while she was in hiding herself.

.

When he was younger he had often asked about his father, assuming it was one of the blonde-haired blue eyed merchants even though it didn't make much sense because his mother hated the merchants. She had always side-stepped the question to talk about _her_ side of the family instead to fill his young head with stories of the Paylors of the past. Before Panem rose, they had once ruled their country as kings, but then disasters and the Cataclysm forced them to become District Eight. When they had bowed to Panem the Paylors lost their status to the foreigners the Capitol assigned to spy on them and take over the governing jobs. In as little as three generations ago the name Paylor had meant nobility, before the new regime came and took away everything they had.

"Never forget, you're a king descended from a noble bloodline," his mother had once whispered, wrapping her arms around his chest. "And a king takes care of his people."

But what kind of king was he? Unable to staunch the wounds of his country, unable to ease his people's fears. The Capitol took from them their labour, their lives, their dignity and for eighteen years their king had done nothing but watch helplessly.

The day after his last Reaping, his mother had told him the truth about his father and it was the happiest day of his life. He now had a goal to work towards, a means of saving his people and nobody, not even his father could put a price on that.

.

His shift ended around dusk, when the sky torn between the red-orange of sunset and blue-black of descending night. He pulled a thick woolen scarf over his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets. The gang assigned to escort him were already gathered at the entrance to greet him.

"Yo boss, ready to go?" a thick-set bald man in a leather jacket asked.

"Yeah, just waiting for my next contact," he replied absently, looking around for someone looking for him. He didn't have to wait long.

"Mr. Paylor?" He looked down.

A fragile-looking girl with inquisitive brown eyes and curly brown hair tumbling around her shoulders tugged on his sleeve. She showed him a hastily inked bird doodled on the palm of her hand and he nodded in recognition. The girl still too young for the Reaping clumsily wiped the ink off on her skirt, leaving a messy smear on her small hand.

It was a mockingjay, the symbol District Eight chose to show that they supported his cause. A creature descended from Capitol Jabberjays and common mockingbirds that ended up being a slap in the face to the Capitol, mirroring how Ike had descended from a Capitol father and District mother and was currently a slap in the face to the Capitol.

He crouched down to see eye-to-eye with the little girl.

"That's me. Are you my next safe house?"

She nodded, eyes wide. "Mmhmm. But Papa said there was a message for you."

He bent his ear over her cupped hand.

"Don't come around block-C, the Peacekeepers have set up a trap, they plan on staging a fake robbery, and you accidently getting caught in the crossfire. Around block B they have several cut-throats lurking in the alleyway. Around block A Peacekeepers have set up a blockade. And around block D the old warehouse is set to explode if they see you walk by."

He stood up again and cursed. "They blocked off all the streets. They wanna get me today," he told the gang.

"Well now's the time as good as any, Everybody's busy watching the Games on the screens, who's paying attention to you?" the leader said gruffly.

He turned back to the tiny informant. "Thank you. What's your name little girl?"

Her long eyelashes blinked innocently. "Cecelia."

"Do you have any suggestions for me Cecelia?"

She shook her head.

"One of the matchbox girls on the corner said the Peacekeepers are combing through the streets for you anyway. You can't stay here or they'll get you for loitering."

"What do we do now boss?" one of his thugs grunted.

Ike began to sweat. "We have to choose a route. Are you alright with a fake robbery at block C?"

"S'okay boss," He opened his jacket to reveal a pilfered Peacekeeper Assault rifle at his hip. "Don't worry about it, we're packin' heat too." Ike's heart leapt in his throat but he nodded calmly. He knew they stole bulletproof underclothes from the factories here too, he was wearing a set now but he never thought he would actually need it.

"Alright. Cecelia, where do you live?"

She told him her address.

"Okay run along now, we'll be right behind you."

She picked up her skirts and dashed home, like a running stitch across an inseam.

Ike waited until he was sure she was safely behind closed doors before moving forward, his bodyguard personal flanking all sides and taking up both sides of the streets.

As he walked by people on the side of the streets and above the rusted balconies of the crumbling tenements whispered his name reverently and reached out as if wanting to touch him, wanting to be reassured that he would help them once he got to the Capitol and their lives would get better.

And he would, he vowed silently. Their king was no longer helpless to the injustices they faced daily, he would help his people or die trying.

They continued on, never breaking formation, staring straight in front of them until a ragged man ran past clutching a pile of bills to his chest.

"Stop, thief!" a Peacekeeper barked. "All forms of stealing is forbidden in District 8, punishable by death!"

A spray of bullets rained down on them and pedestrians nearby screamed and ducked.

"Protect Paylor!" someone shouted, and he felt several bodyguards tighten in formation around him. Several more blasts rang out, but closer and he realized with a sickening jolt that they were fighting back, on his side.

"Up there!" a woman's voice screeched.

Everybody turned towards the direction she was pointing to see a Peacekeeper on the rooftops, aiming a sniper rifle right at his head.

Ike's eyes widened and his mouth went dry. It seemed to happen in slow motion but miraculously a second figure emerged as well and knocked the Peacekeeper off the roof.

"Long live Paylor!" the man howled, brandishing a frying pan over his head like a weapon.

It triggered a stir in the crowd and as if on cue people started pouring out of their tenements wielding kitchen cleavers, lengths of pipe, lit torches, any make-shift weapon and mobbed the Peacekeepers. It was sheer pandamonium but they had the overwhelming numbers and easily swarmed the white-clad soldiers.

They air was filled with their cries of "Paylor! Paylor! Paylor!" like a cry of vengeance.

He staggered to his feet, not truly believing what he had just witnessed. All around him Peacekeepers were dying or fleeing while his entire District was chanting his name.

He craned his head upwards and saw someone unfurl a banner of a Mockingjay out the window, the flames of the torches breaking the darkness of the night sky. It was all for him, he realized. They were risking it all and pinning their hopes on him.

The buildings shook with the cries of new words and an old name that hadn't been uttered in generations, "Long live Paylor, trueborn leader of the Special Operations Police!"

* * *

**A/N: "Why was the last chapter titled Bird of Prey?" Just me having fun :) any chapter where Raven appears will have some sort of bird association in the title.**

**Just some etymology, Ike is named after the only protagonist in Fire Emblem of low birth, who then assumes leadership of the Greil Mercenaries where its members flat-out leave because they can't stand to be serving someone they think is inferior to them.**

**Read about District 8 in my Pieces of Panem story chapter 6.**

**If you're interested in a pre-Panem sequel please click the following buttons for my Hunger Games Origins stories.**

**Next week we return to the arena in: The Computerist Quandry**

**Tributes still in play:**

**Niko**

**Dexter**

**Cabel**

**Marlin**

**Tally**

**Sabine**

**Blight**

**Lyssa**

**D10F**

**D10M**

**Raven**


	13. Chapter 13

  


Chapter 13 The Computerist Quandry

**Tallulah "Tally" Cooper District Five Female**

"Knock knock guys."

Tally slammed the door of their meeting room shut with her hip since her arms were loaded down with snacks and beverages she had managed to wrestle from the vending machines on the next floor.

"You guys wouldn't believe how hard it was for me to get these without paying, " she said although neither of her allies were paying attention.

Dexter was still coding, his fingers flying across the keyboard, eyes glued to the screen. He had explicitly told them not to bother him while he was in the zone, "I've spent all-nighters working with a deadline so don't worry, I'm fine without food or water or sleep or a bathroom. Seriously, I'll be fine."

Cabel had found some promising looking materials in the building and explained that as a back-up, in case Dexter's plan didn't work, she could build a drone that she would control that would give them an aerial view of the arena.

And that left Tally.

So basically I'm their maid, she groaned inwardly. It wasn't fair, Tally was no slouch herself. Back at home she had been something special, the best and brightest, her instructors had declared. But she had to admit that here her allies from Three had more useful specializations and there wasn't exactly much use for a tribute with extensive knowledge in nuclear physics.

She sat down awkwardly in a spinning chair and tapped her fingers on the armrest, uncomfortable to be so idle when her allies were so hard at work.

"Um, Cabel do you need any help?" she asked cautiously.

"No, I'm fine. But I'm kind of concerned about Dexter though, he hasn't stopped coding since we got here. I know he told us he would be fine but could you maybe give him something to eat before he passes out?" She didn't look up from her work even once as she spoke.

"Sure." Tally jumped off the chair and cracked open a can of some energy drink which bubbled and fizzed when she popped the tab. She dropped a straw inside and held it up to Dexter's mouth awkwardly as his hands kept typing beneath it.

After a few minutes of waiting where Tally was wondering if he had even noticed the sustenance literally in front of his face, but eventually his lips found the straw and he sipped the drink eagerly, not taking his eyes off the screen. Tally wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead with a napkin and winced when it came back grimy with perspiration.

"Dexter, are you sure you don't need a break?"

He grunted in return and the clacking of computer keys didn't even break its frantic staccato.

The computer screen filled with letters and numbers and symbols that she couldn't fathom the meaning of but would apparently let them into the Capitol's video surveillance. She slid her eyes to her at her ally's exhausted face, wondering what would crack first, would Dexter break the code or would the code break Dexter?

**Marlin Rodriguez District Four Male**

A creak from an open door as the wind blew shrieked like ghoul and he ducked in an alley. His heart raced and he clutched his hand gun that had miraculously survived the swim to his chest.

With no one to watch his back every sound meant an possible attack, each shadow was an enemy. He peered out the alleyway, and stepped out hesitantly once he decided it was safe.

Still paranoid over Niko's betrayal, the overwhelming shock and emotion rose until it broke and crested like a wave across rocks. He fell to his knees and raked his hands through his hair.

How could he? His own District partner too? There was an unspoken rule in the Hunger Games, especially in the Career Districts that District partners tried to ensure each other's survival for as long as possible. For Niko to kill his partner _on the second day_ , it was unforgivable. Marlin knew without a doubt that his one time-ally would not be receiving anything from his mentors for his betrayal to District Two.

He blew out his breath in a ragged huff, feeling stupid for even thinking he could trust Niko. But a sinister voice in his head said maybe he shouldn't be so shocked, this was the arena and as long as there was only one victor walking out alive he couldn't trust anyone other than himself.

He slumped against a wall, pausing to take a sip from his canteen. After swimming across the small ocean, he had ended up in some sort of slum where all the buildings were identical. He had taken a chance with the first building he saw and scavenged a few supplies that hung in a duffel bag over his back.

So far he had his gun which he had tucked under his belt, a canteen, a box of matches, a torch and some kind of grain bars with dried fruits and nuts.

For the past few days he had been hunting down the other tributes on his own, though without any success. His paranoia meant he hadn't been reckless, but in his caution he had barely made a dent in the arena. Some Career he was. Strange, that the tributes from the outer districts looked at them with such contempt, but why was being a Career such a bad thing?

All his life he had done what was good and decent, what he thought was _right._

_"Er, sorry but I only see you as a friend Marlin. But you're a really nice guy..."_

_"You're lucky Marlin's a nice guy..."_

_Nice guy..._

A flash of movement from the left caught his eye and he froze, trying to rapidly gauge his next decision. Was it predator or prey?

A flurry of footsteps later and he decided that it was prey.

He took after the sound of running footsteps into the docks by the beach. Down the abandoned pier where ropes hung on rotted poles and broken buckets were scattered along the wooden decks he chased the fleeing tributes. When he skidded a corner he caught a glance at who he was chasing.

It was the pair from Ten, he realized. They must have found a change of clothes in the arena because instead of looking like they came out of some disco they were wearing blue jeans, wool shirts and bright-yellow lifejackets.

He raised his handgun and clumsily pulled the trigger several times.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

They all missed. How could anyone expect such tiny bullets to find their way to their target? He almost threw away the useless handgun in frustration and would have if it wasn't the only weapon he had.

The tributes from Ten turned a corner and Marlin skidded on his heel not far behind. He watched them run into a large wooden building with a rusted tin roof at the end of a dock and laughed at the irony. Did they not know what it was?

With a maniacal grin on his face he slammed the sliding door open with the flat of his hand to see an abandoned fishery warehouse, one lone light swinging from the metal rafters, hooks and pulleys suspended from the ceiling, and amoung wooden pallets and boxes the water lapped gently in the centre of the building devoid of fish.

"Come out and play District Ten," Marlin purred in a voice he hadn't heard before.

There was nothing but the _plip plip plip_ of grungy water dripping from the ceiling.

He took a step inside and heard a rustle from the corner.

He turned to investigate the source of the noise and out of nowhere a metal hook slammed against the back of his head and caught him by the collar of his shirt. Marlin clawed at the air as he found himself yanked off the ground while the chains of the pulley system groaned and squeaked from the sudden use.

This meant there was only one place they could be, his eyes instinctively found the control board where the female, a slim brunette with curly hair was frantically pushing buttons and moving levers. She looked up, met his eyes and her lips parted in a perfect O of surprise and fear. As Marlin rose and jerked he angled his gun at her back and shot.

_Chik_

It was a hit, a very palpable hit but nothing happened. She staggered slightly from impact but otherwise continued frantically playing around with the controls, trying to move Marlin away from her. It threw him off at first, before he remembered the bullet-proof vests he had gotten from his mentors. He took aim again, but this time at her head.

_Bang bang bang_

The third one got her, she didn't even so much as yelp from pain before the cannon sounded and blood bloomed from the hole in her skull. She was dead before she hit the ground, her eyes still wide open and lips parted in surprise.

As if on reflex, Marlin swung his body over the railing of the nearest platform and landed with a clatter. He untangled the hook from his shirt and glanced over to see the male make a mad dash to the doors.

Shaking his head, Marlin grabbed the railing with one hand and heaved himself over in one fluid motion. He landed catlike on all fours and took off running, but not before grabbing a fishing spear from the wall.

Once again he was in hot pursuit but not after two tributes, only one. Knowing that he had on the same bullet-proof vests as him Marlin aimed for his head, but the smaller moving target proved too difficult to hit.

Too soon he was out of bullets and had no way to get more. Luckily the boy from Ten began to lag sooner than he expected, as if he knew he was done for without his partner.

In no time at all Marlin caught up and instinctively drew his spear slowly, ever so slowly through the other boy's back. The shaft sank in like a knife through butter until he felt the crack of the other's boy vertebrae.

It was just as he suspected, the vest was built to counter the rapid impact of bullets, but tore under the slow slice of the spear.

The boy from Ten coughed and his blood stained the corner of his mouth. When Marlin pulled his spear back the boy sank to his knees and collapsed, but the cannon did not sound.

With a queer grin Marlin yanked off the boy's jacket, shirt, and vest, then proceeded to plunge his spear into his bare body several until he too was covered in the spray of his blood. Even past the cannon he continued.

_I must have stabbed him fifty fucking times!_ He thought giddily. Right now the boy underneath him was so mutilated he didn't resemble the boy from Ten anymore and right before his eyes the body morphed into Niko. Marlin reached into his chest cavity and pulled out his heart, in his delirious haze it was still beating, and jammed it into the corpse's open mouth.

"Eat it! Eat it!" He howled and laughed.

**Dexter Soo District Three Male**

Back in his own little world far away from crazy Careers and outer-District hunters he tapped away at his code as if his life depended on it, which to be fair it did.

He had started with determining the operating system by trying pOf or nmap to run a port scan. This showed him the ports that were open on the machine, the OS, and even the type of firewall and router they were using so he could plan a course of action. Then he activated OS detection in nmap by using the -O switch.

Next was finding a path or open port in the system. Common ports such as FTP (21) and HTTP (80) were often well protected, and possibly only vulnerable to exploits yet to be discovered. He tried other TCP and UDP ports that may have been forgotten, such as Telnet and various UDP ports left open for LAN gaming. When that didn't work he searched for an open port 22, usually evidence of an SSH (secure shell) service running on the target, which can sometimes be brute forced.

Then was the password cracking or authentication process. There were several methods for cracking a password. Most hashing algorithms were weak, and it was possible to significantly improve the cracking speed by exploiting these weaknesses. With a tap of a few keys he cut the MD5 algorithm in a half, giving himself a huge speed boost.

The end game was getting root privileges which he did by using a *nix terminal for commands. He used the tactic of creating a buffer overflow causing the memory to dump and allowing him to inject a code at a higher level than normally authorized. And then it was only the matter of writing a program that he could execte in the setuid bit set that would let him access the cameras on that particular computer. He finished the final lines of the program's code, then finally lifted his hands from the keyboard.

Swaying slightly from exhaustion, Dexter finally collapsed at the back of his chair, noticing for the first time how everything in his vision was swimming.

"So did it work?" Tally asked.

He shook his head. "I don't know yet, we have to wait for my code to finish compiling."

_And honestly even I don't know if it'll work,_ he thought silently.

If he had made a mistake, any mistake, even a single digit it would fail and all his hard work would be for nothing.

He rubbed his eyes blearily and looked around the room, trying to reorient himself. He could see the concerned faces of his allies, and past them the view of the full length windows of the boardroom.

"Back in District 3 I coded video games," he murmured quietly, almost to himself.

He walked over to a window until he saw his reflection, ashen-faced and exhausted and held his hand to the surface, noting the absence of a gap between his own hand and the reflection in the window. A small frown furrowed on his tired face.

"And when I first landed in the arena I thought all this was is just one of the virtual reality settings we created and it wasn't real."

"So the Hunger Games isn't real? It's just a video game?" Cabel got up and put her hand on his shoulder curiously.

He shook his head. "No. I thought it was but everything, the arena, the pain, the killing, they're real. And if my code doesn't work, we're probably going to die becaude Cabel _t_ _he deaths are real._ " He closed his eyes and clenched his fists, feeling oh so very tired.

His allies glanced at each other in concern. "Here." Tally laid down a few cushions on the ground and gestured for him to lie down.

He settled in on floor gratefully for a well-deserved nap. Dexter had an eidetic memory which had served him faithfully through school, but if it failed him now he wouldn't survive to see anything else in life.

He dozed off worriedly, for some reason dwelling on another other time in his life he could have died.

* * *

When he was eleven years old and only a very junior programming student his only assignments were to code basic movements for some simple flash games. His teachers, or more accurately his bosses, had underestimated his speed and didn't realize that he was able to finish his projects in a fraction of the time they had assigned him.

On a typical day he usually finished his work in an hour, then spent the rest of his lab time sitting in front of the computer, bored out of his skull wondering if other people seriously needed this much time. One day, out of sheer boredom, he hacked into one of the Capitol's lesser-monitored internet systems.

He started with testing the target, seeing if he could reach the remote system. He had used pingutility, included in most operating systems and saw that his target was indeed active. He made a program that would try to enter every single combination and permutation of every letter number and symbol on the keyboard. It was surprisingly easy.

Young Dexter didn't do much after he was in, he was too afraid it was some sort of trick (seriously, it was too easy) and quickly exited before he could get caught.

The next day he was called into the principal's office where an elderly well-dressed man from the Capitol was waiting for him. Dexter gulped when he saw the man's scowl.

They went into an empty computer lab and the old man shut the door. "You know why I'm here." It wasn't a question, but a statement.

Dexter nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak.

"Show me what you did the other day."

He glanced up at him, wondering if it was a trick.

"You hacked into the Capitol's system yesterday, do it again please," he commanded.

Dexter had no choice. He sat in front of the computer in the room and logged on, then repeated everything he did yesterday while the man watched silently. Eventually he got to the hello authenticator page when the man asked him to stop.

The old man turned to him, his fluffy white eyebrows knotted into a perplexed frown. "You did this? A child?"

He was literally shaking in his seat, wondering if they were going to accuse him of being a criminal to the Capitol and then kill him.

Suddenly the man tipped his head back and laughed. "I've saying for years that our computer system is too weak, but the higher-ups never took me seriously! If a simple child from the Districts could break into our system, admittedly the weakest one, well, now they see why we need to strengthen our security."

Dexter let out a sigh of relief. "So you aren't mad?"

The old man chuckled. "Mad? I'm so happy I could kiss you."

Dexter smiled and the man smiled back at him.

"You have potential my boy, if you could do this at eleven, imagine what you could come up with later."

And he was right. By the time Dexter was sixteen he had a second job testing the strengths and weaknesses of the Capitol's security systems, informing them of areas which needed improvement and where anybody could break in.

And secretly he got better too. In pockets where he did find weakness, he didn't inform anybody right away. (Most of his teens were spent on an exorbitant amount of Capitol pornography) Something else he kept a secret was didn't tell anyone about this but he spent an equal amount of time teaching himself how to erase his tracks, view confidential files, and make slight changes without anybody knowing, always one step ahead of the game. It wasn't out of sheer boredom or curiosity anymore, it was because those who control knowledge control the world.

Oh, and the nice Capitol man had given him a bar of real chocolate that day, he remembered. It was rich and decadent with chopped fruits and nuts inside and was the most delicious thing he had ever eaten and Mr. Heavensbee always brought a bar for him whenever he had business in District Three.

* * *

He woke up to the sound of crinkling wrappers and the crunch of potato chips.

"Here," Cabel handed him a bar of chocolate. "It's the densest-calorie snack I could find. You haven't eaten anything for days."

He blinked and stared at the wrapper for a few long seconds. It was the same brand as the one he had received as a child, almost an eerie coincidence. He ripped the wrapper open and bit into it thoughtfully, wondering if he was tasting almond or pistachio. Midchew, he heard a ding from the laptop and his heart fluttered straight into his throat. His code had finished compiling.

He raced over to the screen and double clicked to launch his program, his hands trembling so much that it took him several tries. They crowded around the computer as the program entered a screen asking him for a log code and password. He watched as his program filled in the tiny black dots. He inhaled sharply, waiting for the moment of truth.

_Welcome, Administrator._

He let out his breath all at once, not even realizing that he was holding it.

Before his eyes the screen filled with hundreds of tiny thumbnails streaming live footage of the arena. He swiped a few screens away, bringing a few into focus and spreading his fingers to enlarge them.

Right now the footage featured the empty cornucopia, the silent streets, sleeping mutts, the girl from Eight stringing trip-wires inside a building and so much more.

He couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice as he enlarged a screen following one of the tributes as he walked down the street, a grim expression on his face.

"Ladies, we are live."

* * *

**A/N Disclaimer: I am not a computer hacker and anything related to hacking here is stuff I googled from wikihow, there will be inaccuracies. If anyone here has actual experience hacking into a government computer system, send me a PM I would love to hear from you!**

**And we're at the top 9. Tune in for the next chapter: Birds of a Feather (Try to guess who shows up that chapter)**

**Still in play:**

**Niko**

**Dexter**

**Cabel**

**Marlin**

**Tally**

**Sabine**

**Blight**

**Lyssa**

**Raven**


	14. Chapter 14

  


Chapter 14 Birds of a Feather

**Nikolaos "Niko" Egret, District 2 Male**

He had killed four of his allies an unprecedented two days in the Games, did he regret it?

Niko stumbled along the streets, his vision blurring and seeing double. He leaned a shaking hand against a brick wall before collapsing in exhaustion on the dusty ground. If it wasn't apparent to him before, it was apparent to him now that the arena was a lot larger on foot than on car.

With a shuddering breath, he reached into a front pocket in his jean jacket and pulled out his last soldier pill.

He threw it into his mouth and swallowed, realizing that he would have to legitimately sleep soon. He could only safely take three pills in a row, plus there was no chance of receiving more, or anything at all from his mentors.

Part of him knew he wouldn't have had another opportunity to get rid of his biggest threats that early on but another part of him wondered if there was wisdom in waiting until near the end because right now he had no one to watch his back and was paying the price for his impatience.

He passed yet another empty street and screamed obscenities in his head. The landscape was too big, too convoluted with too many hiding places. It would take him _days_ to search through every single building, and that was assuming tributes weren't moving around.

A soft rustle around a corner caught his attention and he rushed towards the sound of another tribute.

_Finally!_

He skidded to a halt when he saw what he had been chasing, it was no tribute but plant mutts, six feet tall with round heads shaped like canons. They swayed back and forth, bright green leaves and green stalks supporting their oversized heads and suddenly, bent over and spat rapid-fire bullets straight at him.

The bullets hit him straight in the chest, but thanks to the Kevlar vest they did nothing but bruise and knock the wind out of him.

Niko winced and clutched his aching chest. Instincts kicking in, he turned on his heel and ran, aware of the impact of a few bullets embedding themselves in the back of his jacket.

He thought he would be safe when he turned the corner, but the rustling sound only got louder and the bullets kept coming.

He risked a glance behind him and his eyes widened when he saw their roots actually tunnelling through the ground heading straight towards him.

_Moving plants? What the fuck!_

He dashed down the deserted streets but the plant mutts continued their relentless assault as they chased after him, their roots rumbling through the cement.

Huffing and puffing, he didn't know how long he had been runnin until he remembered that a Kevlar vest could only take so much damage before wearing down. With horror, he realized the fibers were weakening and it was only a matter of time until-

He felt a bullet hit him shallowly into the back, causing him to stumble and fall. His hands met the gritty road and he braced himself for impact. It still wasn't enough, stars flashed before his eyes when the rest of his body hit the ground hard.

Just when he thought it was the end, that this was where he was going to die, the plants began to retreat. He was confused by their mysterious withdrawal, but grateful. With bigger things to worry about than what made them suddenly back off he tried to get to his feet but found he didn't have the strength.

He lifted his arm and began to crawl but quickly realized he was losing blood and would only bleed out faster.

_Shit._

He licked his lips and turned his face to the sky in desperation. "Come on Marius, seriously? You can't send anything?"

There was no response from his mentor.

_Of course not._

Despite the every man for himself rules of the Games, District 2 had honour and for betraying the alliance, he would get nothing.

He mentally screamed every curse he knew at his mentor, his dead allies, the mutts and pounded his fists in frustration. He hated the feeling of depending on someone to save him. Back home, everyone in District 2 was taught not to need help. With a past history as mercenary soldiers who provided military support and a current history as Peacekeepers who kept Panem safe, they _were_ the help.

His hands shook and for the first time in years he had an overwhelming urge to cry. Despite that, he knew there was one person who he had always been able to rely on for help, only she wasn't here.

He knew he was bleeding out fast, and the most frustrating thing was he had the medical supplies and knowledge to cauterize the wound. But as long as he couldn't reach his back they were useless and the only thing he could do was lie there and try to die slower.

As he lay on the cold hard ground, desperately clinging to life, he drifted in and out of consciousness. His eyelids felt so heavy, and against his will they began to dream of better days.

* * *

"Sis?" A young boy stood tip toe, holding the phone attached too high on the wall with both hands to his ear.

"Hey little brother, how're you doing? Did you lose my pin yet?"

"What? No! Of course I still have it, it's the only thing I have that's really mine." He sounded hurt that she would even suggest that he was so irresponsible. "How's District Twelve?"

"Boring you know, in the middle of nowhere and people too scared to even talk to me. It's a quiet district, which only means less work the Peacekeepers have to do." She let out a small laugh.

"I miss you."

"I miss you too."

...

"I hate how siblings are always assigned to different districts."

"Well that's the way it is, loyalty to the Capitol before kin. I hope you're working hard at the academy?"

"Uh huh."

"Good, maybe you can be assigned to a good district when you graduate."

"When I grow up, I'm gonna volunteer for the Hunger Games and win," he blurted out.

"No! Niko, don't, it's too risky!" Her voice sounded frantic over the phone.

"I won't die, I can win like Marius did and break your contract so you can come home and we can be a family again." His voice cracked at the last part.

"Niko please don't, it's a death lottery, even for Two," she pleaded.

His stomach twisted at the idea that he might actually not win, but he pushed the thought aside. "Sorry sis, I got to go now," he apologized, and hung up the phone.

He scampered away, the only thing on his mind was last year's victor. There was a mandatory broadcast where he was moving into victor's village, only to see his half-brother, still wearing the white Peacekeeper uniform waiting for him at the doorway.

It was a picture-perfect program, him dropping his boxes in shock, and then whooping and running into his brother's arms. Even Niko could tell it was staged but he could tell that the elation of seeing each other again was real.

To this day his brother was still chilling in his house in District 2, and that was real too.

* * *

The image faded and Niko's breathing slowed. Back then Marius had made it look so easy and he had thought he could do it too. But in the present, he lay dying on the ground.

**Raven Everdeen, District 12 Male**

He was strolling the rooftops like a sniper in the war movies he saw on television when he heard the sound of gunshots a few buildings away. He jumped and flattened himself against the wall, trying to still his racing heart.

He waited for the cannon to sound but hearing none, cautiously climbed down the fire escape to investigate.

Edging along the buildings with an arrow nocked, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger, he came across another tribute. It was a pale-looking boy with black hair and half-shut eyes crawling on the ground and bleeding profusely from his back. _The boy from Two_ , he realized. Someone who'd survived whatever killed four of the Careers the other day.

Hidden in the alleyway, he kept watching him, and in less than a minute the boy slumped over, and fell unconscious.

Raven picked up a pebble in the ground and threw it at him. It hit his head and bounced off. There was no response, not even a twitch.

Reaching for the length of rope in his bag, Raven approached the unconscious tribute slowly. The first thing he did was grab his revolver and tuck it into his own belt. He tied the boy's hands behind his back and around his legs until he was trussed up a groosling.

"Hey." Raven slapped him between the shoulder blades. "Wake up!"

The boy from Two blinked groggily and immediately began to struggle against his bonds.

"Tell me what killed four of your allies the other day," Raven demanded.

The boy let out a harsh bark of a laugh. "I did. I shot them myself."

"Liar!" Raven punched him in the face and the boy fell over backwards, wincing in pain.

He struggled to sit up again and Raven realized the pool of blood was getting bigger and bigger and his source of information was likely going to die before he could divulge the Gamemakers traps.

"Listen Twelve, if you want my Intel you're going to have to help me," the boy said as if reading his mind.

Raven considered it, and decided that being prepared for whatever deadly Gamemaker traps would be sprung in advance that year was worth it. "Fine."

"Untie me. No don't give me that look, I'm not going to do anything to you if I need you."

Raven undid the ropes and to his credit, the boy from Two didn't even make a move towards him but instead reached into the pouch around his thigh and pulled out a flask of alcohol, a pair of plyers, a box of bullets, and a lighter.

"Disinfect your fingers with the alcohol, then pull out the bullets," he instructed.

Raven poured the alcohol over his hands and took off the boy's flak jacket, shirt, and the vest he was wearing underneath, all riddled with holes.

He reached into his back, slick with blood, with his bare fingers and pulled out the three bullets that were imbedded shallowly in his flesh.

The boy lay flat on his stomach. "Now use the plyers to open up a bullet and pour the gunpowder over the open wound," he said from the ground.

It took him a few tries but Raven managed to pull apart a bullet and shook the white power inside over his back.

"Take the lighter let it flame up for a couple of seconds, the gunpowder will melt cauterize the wound. Be ready to put out the fire."

Raven gulped and flicked the lighter on. The boy clenched a handkerchief between his teeth. He hesitated, then brought the flame to the boy's back.

It flared up and the boy screamed in pain. Raven frantically whacked his back with a wet towel before he ended up burning his only ally to death.

"Is it done?" The boy panted.

"Hold on." Raven cleaned off the blood and bandaged his back and chest with a roll of gauze.

"Hurts like a motherfucker," the boy groaned, trying to get up but failing.

Raven reached for his shirt to pass it to him but the medal of valour over the left breast caught his eye.

It was a cheap hammered bronze piece decorated with both a five pointed star and a wreath of laurels, signifying the loss of a father and a mother. He quickly checked his own own shirt where his identical medal was pinned.

"Are you going to help me get dressed or what?" the boy snapped from the ground.

Raven turned to him, seeing him in a completely new light. He was surprised that the medals were the same when they came from opposite districts, but in the end he realized the oldest child of an orphaned family would be no different.

He checked his own pin on his shirt, bringing back a flood of memories which rushed in despite how hard he tried to repress it.

* * *

The day his parents died, the sirens went off during school lunch. No one waited for dismissal, or was expected to. The response to a mine accident was something outside the control of even the Capitol.

He ran to Robin's class. He remembered him, tiny at seven, very pale but sitting straight with his hands folded on his desk. Waiting for him to collect him as he had promise he would if the sirens ever sounded.

When he saw his brother he sprang out of his seat, grabbed his coat sleeve and they wove through the streams of people pouring out onto the streets to pool at the main entrance of the mine.

The elevators were screeching, burning up and down their cables as they belched smoke-blackened miners into the light of day. With each group came cries of relief, relatives diving under the rope to lead off their husbands, wives, children, parents, siblings.

Raven and his brother stood in the freezing air as the afternoon turned overcast, a light snow dusting the earth. The elevators moved more slowly and disgorged fewer and fewer beings until it slowed to a halt.

_No._

He had collapsed on the ground and pressed his hands into the cinders, wanting so badly to pull his parents free. He remembered the helpless panic of trying to reach the ones he loved trapped underground but knowing with a sinking heart that there was nothing he could do.

_What about me and Robin? What do we do now?_

Tears stung in his eyes and he choked back a sob, hating himself for being so weak. A hand tapped his shoulder and he looked up to see the grieved expression of the mine captain who shook his head sadly.

Somewhere far away he could hear an unhappy murmur from the remaining families. "What will happen to the Everdeen boys?" someone whispered.

.

"Auntie, uncle, please we're family," he pleaded, Robin in hand as his cousins, wide-eyed and emaciated peeped from behind their mother's skirts. But it was no use no matter which house they went to.

.

"Sorry boys, we're barely scraping by as it is," they said sadly before gently shutting the door in his stunned face. With no one to turn to he shuffled defeatedly to the place where all hope died. The Community Home.

.

"Always more brats every time there's an accident," the Matron grumbled as she wiped her hands on her apron and bustled across the room, unsympathetic to the wails and cries of children who had just lost their parents.

Raven, heavy bags under his eyes hunched gloomily on a small cot with one arm around his silent brother stared at the medal in the other, wondering how they were going to get through the days to come.

* * *

He looked back at the boy from Two feeling a surge of something, maybe sympathy or solidarity but-

_Was he the same as me?_

"Tell you what, you need someone to clean your wound and change your dressings regularly because you can't reach yourself. And I need your knowledge of this year's arena and its traps," he found himself saying.

"What, you want to be allies?" The boy from Two was suspicious.

"I'm tired of sleeping with one eye open," Raven said honestly.

The other boy squinted at him distrustfully and seemed to be weighing his options in his head. After a long time he sighed as if he was doing him a big favour. "Fine."

Raven got up and reached down to help him up by the hand.

"What's your name?"

"Niko. Yours?"

"Raven."

* * *

**A/N The plant mutts were based off the peashooters in plants vs zombies. And there we go, the last alliance in the Games. Which alliance are you interested in seeing the most?**

**Next chapter: The Ambiguous Agendum.**

**Still in play:**

**Niko & Raven**

**Dexter & Cabel & Tally**

**Marlin (Alone)**

**Sabine & Blight**

**Lyssa (Alone)**


	15. Chapter 15

  


Chapter 15 The Ambiguous Agendum

**Sabine Delgado, District 6 Female**

Sabine drove along the empty roads, compass swinging on the rearview mirror and snuck a glance at her ally from Seven next to her.

Blight was sitting quietly and gazing out the window, his rifle resting in his hands. He made no move to talk to initiate conversation so neither did she.

They had been driving silently due north for days and they hadn't run into much trouble other than a few mutts that Blight had made short work with using his rifle. After seeing what he could do she was grateful for his presence, there was no way she could have escaped those shooter plant-mutts with a flat tire.

Still, she wondered if she could really trust Blight, if he wanted to he could turn on her as easy as changing a bolt cap since he was armed and she wasn't. But then remembered that maybe he didn't trust her, considering how her father's Games went down.

* * *

Her father had never liked talking about his Games and avoided the topic whenever it came up which had puzzled and frustrated her as a child.

One night out of sheer curiosity she and her brother had snuck downstairs to the home theater while their parents were asleep, put on headphones and settled themselves under the comforter to watch a rerun of their father's Games.

It felt weird. It seemed like some major invasion of their father's privacy but they justified it because the whole thing was public and after all, it was their own father.

The arena that year was a safari and the only weapons in the cornucopia were nets and tranquilizer darts. Their father got away from bloodbath easily. Handsome and likeable, he had no problem charming the tributes from Ten into letting them join their alliance.

District Ten had a knack with animals and through taming long-necked spotted giraffes and heavy trumpeting elephants they had managed to use them to their advantage. Eventually they ran into the pair from Two.

"You guys take out the guard, I'll come in from the rear to finish them off," her father whispered when they were a several feet away hidden from the Twos.

His allies had awakened the boy on guard, who shouted for his partner for help.

And her father had sat back in the tall grass and watched the battle unfold as the tributes from Two killed his allies. Only when they were injured from the skirmish did their father rush out with his machete. The Twos were too slow to respond, still injured and not suspecting a third attacker.

"Heheh, that's sly one there," the announcer had chuckled. "Better watch out for the District Six boy this year!"

And Sabine had felt sick.

It was then when they discovered the real reason people called their father Sly, it wasn't just a diminutive of Sylvester but how he managed to win the Games. And they also learned that day why he didn't like talking about it. No one likes being reminded that they're only alive because they betrayed the ones who needed and trusted them.

* * *

"So um, I notice you have a Capitol Expo hat," she said nervously in an attempt to make conversation, anything to break the awkward silence. "My brother has the same hat, did you go to the Capitol Expo?"

Blight snorted. "How d'hell would I get into the Capitol Expo, I ain't from the Capitol."

"Then how did you get that hat?"

"I won it. Skeet-shootin'," he mumbled, pulling the brim of his cap over his eyes.

"What's that?"

"It's when you shoot disks fired into the air various angles with a shotgun," he answered. "Some Capitol feller donated it as the grand prize. Mighty generous of him, but I suppose it didn't mean much to him seeing as he's from the Capitol and all, one of em whatchemacallits, arthro, arterio-"

"He was an anthropologist," Sabine corrected him. She knew them well, men and women clutching clipboards and peering over at everything, watching, observing, sometimes participating, scribbling notes about societies and cultures for papers that that would be published one day in the Capitol.

"You know he's probably watching you right now, he might even be one of your sponsers," she said.

"Huh, well I guess yer right. Forgot we were on camera."

She gaped at him in wonder. "How could you possibly forget?"

"Well right now I gots better things to worry," he snapped. "Like dying for one."

Sabine but her lip and turned her eyes back to the empty road.

"So um, do you have a girlfriend back home?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

"Nah, don't like wimmen," he muttered and slunk lower in his seat.

"So um, you like...men?" In certain Districts and the Capitol it wasn't such a strange preference but the way he looked at her she might as well have suggested he liked making out with trees.

"I don't like women, I don't like men, I like the quiet, okay?" he snapped. Sabine muttered an apology and took it as a hint that he wasn't interested in socializing. They drove for an hour like that, not speaking while an awkward silence filled the space between them.

A gas station off the side of the road caught her eye. "Let's take a break and refuel."

As she filled the car with gas, Blight wandered into the gas station building and came back with an armful of snacks and bottled water, plus a small handgun.

"Here, take it," he said, offering her the gun. He held it by the barrel so that she could accept it by the grip.

She pushed it back towards him, slightly perturbed. "No thanks, I'm fine."

He glared at her. "No. You have to know how to defend yourself if anything happens to me and I need saving."

She reluctantly took the gun in her hands. The words "Astra 400" were neatly etched on the barrel.

He handed her a package of cookies. "Throw 'em in the air for me, and I'll show you what skeet shootin's all about."

She opened the package and threw a cookie in the air. Blight cocked his rifle and pulled the trigger. It exploded in a burst of crumbs.

"Wow," she exclaimed, "how can you hit a target so small?"

He shrugged and tugged at his cap bashfully. "Dunno, just have a knack for it, I guess. Trying throwing three at once."

She obliged and he fired three bullets, hitting all three targets.

She was impressed, but quickly wondered if they were wasting precious bullets doing something so stupid. He reassured her he found several boxes of bullets with each gun.

"Now you try, it's easy, just point and shoot, try to hit that tree over there."

Sabine closed one eye, both hands on the pistol shaking, and pulled the trigger. She clenched both eyes shut in terror.

_Bang!_

She opened her eyes hesitantly. "How did I do?"

He shook his head and pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes. "Missed by a mile. Try to hit something bigger, like the broad side of the store."

Something in his tone told her he was making fun of her but she pointed the gun at the side of the store and pulled the trigger.

_Bang!_

It embedded itself in the wooden frame just below the windows.

"Good enough I suppose. Now let's eat, I got tons of grub."

They sat down on the curb and ate quietly.

"How did you even get the nickname Blight anyway, that's such an awful name," she said curiously. The question had been burning in her mind for a while and she couldn't resist asking.

He sighed and closed his eyes. "You know what a cockatrice is?"

"Yeah, they showed up in the Games a couple of years ago, but we don't have them in Six."

"Well they're all over my area of Seven. The situation's so bad that when I was eleven, the mayor made an announcement that he would pay some reward to the family who managed to come up with the most dead cockatrice. But they're tricky fellers with only one coin-sized weak spot, and it takes a special amount of skill to be able to shoot one that's up in the air. Most people can only get em' when they're perched on a branch or set snares, but not me. I missed school for a month, just shootin' down the damn things til they fell out of the sky."

He mimed aiming at the air with a rifle. "I single-handedly brought down their population to record low like some kinda disease, I took 'em out like a _blight."_

Her eyes widened and for a second she could actually picture him standing in the thick forests of District Seven, shooting down birds until they crowded the ground at his feet. "Wow, you're really something," she exclaimed.

A blush rose to his cheeks and he pulled the brim of his cap over his eyes. "Aw, ain't nothin' really. I don't think I'm half as good as my grandpappy was. The old-timers 'round the Sticks told me that they used to call him one-shot Oakley 'cause whenever he went hunting he would only take one bullet with him 'cause it was all he needed."

"Did you learn how to shoot from him?"

"Naw," Blight's eyes didn't meet hers. "My grandpappy fought in the rebellion. He was still called one-shot Oakley then, the old-timers still around said he was a sharp-shooter that could pick off a man a mile away. When it came down to just skill there ain't no one better, but it was just that the Capitol weapons the Peacekeepers were holding that blew him away."

She suddenly felt guilty for some reason, but she didn't know why. "It was District Six's fault the rebellion failed," Sabine said. So that was why she felt guilty.

"Lots of reasons why the rebellion failed, but we can't put the blame on one District. No point blaming the past, " he shrugged. It didn't seem to bother him.

As they got back in the car, she turned to him shyly. "You know, I never thanked you, but thanks for not killing me."

He grunted in reply. "Don't mention it,"

"No, I'm also... really grateful that I ran into you. I would have died at that street corner with those plant mutts."

"Yeah, well thanks for taking me with you," he mumbled. "If this thing works I really owe ya."

"It will," she promised.

"Then teach me how to drive this dang thing," he said emphatically.

"Why?" she protested. But she knew why, they had to stop every time she needed to sleep which was probably six hours a day wasted.

"We waste a lotta goddamn time stopping every time you needa nap. We can cut our travel time in half if someone's driving at all time."

She studied him carefully. Driving was honestly not that hard, especially when they were only driving in one direction and there were no other cars on the road.

"Alright." She said reluctantly. She got out and they switched seats.

"First turn the key clockwise." Blight turnes the key and the car roared to life. "Keep your foot on the pedal over here, then move the stick from P to D, that's from parking to driving. Now remove your foot."

"Hey, the car's moving," he yelped as it inched forward.

"That happens, now make it move faster by stepping on the other pedal."

Blight leaned his foot on the pedal and the car began to steadily increase in speed.

"Hot dang! It's actually going," he said in amazement.

"Why wouldn't it? Just keep going in this direction, there's nothing hard about driving, anybody could do it."

They kept driving until the road trailed off into dirt. When the smooth cement turned into rough driving her excitement began to mount. They were almost there, she could feel it.

"Almost there, be on guard," she murmured to Blight who nodded and clutched the steering wheel tightly.

Clutching the edge of her seat she tapped her foot against the floor nervously, she knew the Gamemakers would do anything to drive them back but no matter what she had to press on forward. They were bound to run into a trap, sooner or later.

_Ding ding ding ding ding_

The sound of clanging bells grew louder as they approached a bridge with flashing red lights and a wooden barrier that began to lower.

"What the hell is that?" Blight asked.

"The bridge is going to rise and we're supposed to wait it out." Blight began to step on he brakes. "No! We can't stop now, speed up!" She yelled.

"You said we had to wait," he argued.

"This is the arena, I'm not sure if it'll actually go down again, so floor it!" she shouted back. He revved the engine and slammed the pedal to the floor.

They accelerated with a jerk and crashed through the wooden barrier just as the bridge began to rise. "Go go go!"

They got to the split and Blight screamed like a girl as the car flew over the gap, but Sabine realized it was actually her. For one heart-wrenching second, they were airborne.

And then they landed on the other side, tires sagging and bouncing back up.

"Whoa." They stopped the car and began breathing rapidly. Sabine could feel her heart racing and held a fist over it to recover. She glanced at her ally.

He let out a low whistle. "That was unbelievable," he muttered.

When they were both ready they continued driving, tense for anything else the Gamemakers might throw at them.

They got their wish when a flock of screeching navy blue bats came out of nowhere and flew right over what was left of the windshield, obscuring their vision. She frantically flipped on the windshield wipers and swept a bunch in through the shattered passenger side of the windshield.

_Eeeeeeeeee!_

They flew in and began scratching and clawing anything within reach. "Ouch!" She had put up her arms to protect her face and felt a few scratches get through before the bats flew out the windows again, hissing at her.

"Hold on, I got this." Blight grabbed his rifle and let out a few rounds, shattering the windshield entirely. The bats began to fall out of the sky like flies. He continued his nonstop assault until they were clear once again. Sabine reached over and grabbed the wheel, when she looked up again there was no urban signs of buildings or any man-made structures.

They were on some bumpy dirt road crashing through the trees.

"Oh my god Blight," she turned to him with an ear to ear grin. "We made it."

**Tallulah "Tally" Cooper, District 5 Female**

"They're not even close," Dexter said flatly, watching Blight and Sabine through one of the many screens. "Besides, there's a forcefield in place, they're not going to escape the arena by car."

A shimmering wall lay several miles ahead of the District Seven male and District Six female. They watched as Blight and Sabine were forced to do a hasty retreat after a wall of uniform fire began giving chase back through the bridge they had jumped through and back into the main part of the city.

"Ok, so we know three things," Cabel began.

"One, the boys from Two and Four got separated somewhere along the way the boy from Twelve joined the former. Two, the girl from Six and the boy from Seven are currently miles away from any tribute and don't seem like they want to run into anyone in a hurry. And three, the arena in the shape of a dome.

_Four things actually, there are weaknesses in the forcefield,_ Tally thought, noticing the small discontinuities on the translucent shimmering wall.

"Ok." Dexter pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Let's talk about what we're going to do from here, now that we actually have a chance at this."

Barely a second passed before Cabel jumped up to answer. "Let's help the girl from Eight," she suggested.

Tally whirled around. "Now why would we do that?" she rounded on the other girl.

"Because…" Cabel struggled to come up with a reason.

"Because we can use her to take out the other competitors," Dexter said smoothly, cottoning on to his partner's plan.

"So you want us to play Gamemaker? Why her though?"

Dexter shrugged and pushed his glasses up his nose. "If you're as smart as you say you are you should be able to figure it out yourself."

Tally flushed and crossed her arms and sat down to fume about it. _Think it through Tally._ What was so special about District Eight? Ike Paylor maybe? He needs media pressure to continue his appeal. And whenever a tribute makes it to the top eight...

"Okay we'll help her... So she can take out the stronger competitors for us. But don't forget our first priority is ourselves," she warned.

Dexter nodded. "Alright, according to the cameras she's setting up traps in a territory where the boys from Two and Twelve are approaching. She has a decent strategy, all she needs is a field where she can render their weapons useless before they can shoot her."

He tapped a few keys and several screens popped up.

"That abandoned fishery warehouse," Cabel declared, pointing to one of the screens. Guns don't work once they get wet right?" She looked at her allies for affirmation. "Right?"

Neither Tally nor Dexter knew enough about guns to agree or disagree with her.

"Alright, she'll probably have the terrain advantage just by surprising Two and Twelve and forcing them to fight in a body of water but how will you get the message across?" Tally asked.

"Like this." Cabel ripped a sheet of paper from a notepad on the table and quickly sketched a rough map of the girl from Eight's location with relation to the boys from Two and Twelve and the main features of the area along with an arrow to the warehouse.

She taped the map to the side of her drone and started it up.

"How will you know she'll actually read it and do what we want?" asked Tally.

There was a hesitant pause.

"I signed it with a little something, to show we're on her side," Cabel said absent-mindedly as she carefully piloted her drone out the door.

Tally squinted at the paper, and she thought she could swear that there was a hasty drawing of a bird on the back but decided it didn't matter.

"Alright back to the important stuff. Our own survival." she said grimly.

"What do you have in mind?" Dexter asked from in front of the laptop.

"We're building a weapon." Tally said firmly.

The tributes from Three turned to her in surprise.

"We have the materials right here to build something that that eliminate all the other players without confrontation, because let's face it. Unlike the Careers and the hunters from Seven and Twelve, we aren't going to win in any physical fight.

"So what are we building?" Cabel asked.

"A bomb."

She expected some arguments, protests, at least doubt but there was only a stunned silence.

Cabel raised her hand timidly like she was in class.

"Um Tally, are you sure you know what you're doing? I mean, why would anyone know how to build bombs?"

It was Tally's then to hesitate, because how could she explain?

* * *

"Mom, I'm scared, I don't want to die!" A twelve year old Tally dressed in her best dress was nearly in tears. It was her first Reaping and Tally was sure that this year _it was going to be her._

Her mother knelt down and took her hysterical daughter's face in her hands.

"It won't be you," she said firmly.

"It could be!"

"No it won't. You know that after District Thirteen was destroyed the Capitol secretly moved nuclear research to District Five."

"Mmm hmm." Tally sniffed as her mother wiped her face with her handkerchief.

It was not-so secret knowledge that the nuclear part of District Five provided the Capitol with more than nuclear power, and everybody that was anybody tried to send their kids to school in their sector for a very specific reason.

"Back when the Hunger Games were first announced, everybody in Nuclear said that the president may be mad, but he wasn't stupid. He would never kill the few people who could actually specialize in nuclear weapons. And we were right. Every single Reaping, it was never one of us but some expendable child of a plant worker. And as long as me and your father are important project heads at the university, you're too valuable to be reaped."

* * *

"Yeah." She gave them a small smile. "Trust me, I know what I'm doing. You two aren't the only geniuses here."

She grabbed a pen and pad of papers from the centre of the meeting table and began the necessary calculations and preparing a list of materials they would need.

As she grinded away she thought back to District Five and the secrets she knew. Why would the Capitol bother with researching nuclear weapons in the first place if they were the only country left in existence?

The answer: Because they weren't.

* * *

**A/N If anyone is reading to the end here on top of my profile page I have a poll up asking if people prefer canon characters in AU universes or OCs in the canon universe, could you please select your choice and vote? (Does not affect the storyline of any of my stories, just curious)**

**Next chapter: A Peck of Lies. Try to guess what goes on in that chapter.**

**Still in play:**

**Niko & Raven**

**Dexter & Cabel & Tally**

**Marlin (alone)**

**Sabine & Blight**

**Lyssa (alone)**


	16. Chapter 16

  


Chapter 16 A Peck of Lies

**Nikolaos "Niko" Egret, District 2 Male**

Raven tipped his head back to watch the familiar grey birds hop from branch to branch stopping once in a while to glance at the two boys. An oak tree along the sidewalk rustled with the movement of their bodies as if it were alive. "Look, mockingjays."

"The hell?" Niko staggered along the streets feverishly, gritting his teeth through the pain but Raven was so busy staring at the birds he didn't notice.

"Don't they have them where you're from? If you sing them something and they like your voice they'll sing back."

"Yeah we have them in Two, common as rocks." _Which is pretty fucking common,_ Niko thought.

"Can you sing them something?"

"If you want, but you wouldn't like of the any songs I know," he warned.

"Let's just see."

Niko took a deep breath, his back felt like it was on fire but he couldn't let Raven know. "One summer day I took out my knob, to give myself a good hand job-" he began.

He didn't even get the next verse out the before Raven decided it was enough. "Okay okay, you're right, I wouldn't like any songs you know," Raven interrupted hastily.

"Well you asked."

"I know." he said quietly. "It's just, I have a brother at home and when he sings, all the birds in the area would fall silent and listen." His ally gazed at him thoughtfully and Niko looked away, trying to not to show weakness. "Are you alright? You look like you can barely walk."

"I told you, I'm fine. And did you make that piece of shit bow yourself? What good do you think it'll do here when everybody else is holding guns?" he grunted.

He expected Raven to be offended but his ally simply paused and reached for an arrow.

"Choose a target," Raven said.

Niko's eyes roamed their area until they rested on a street sign thirty yards away. "The letter 'o' on that street sign."

Raven nodded and nocked his bow, he released the string with a twang, burying an arrow right into the 'o' of Wharton Street.

Niko raised an eyebrow, grudgingly impressed.

"Better than I thought," he admitted, then crumpled to his knees with a groan.

"Stop pretending you're okay, you need help!"

"I... just need some water."

Raven handed him his bottle and Niko downed the entire thing and still wanted more. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. This was not good, dehydration was one of the first signs of sepsis and it would need more than clean bandages to keep him alive.

"Let me see how your bullet wounds are doing."

Niko took off his jacket and shirt and felt Raven unravel the bandages and then the cool air against his inflamed skin.

"How bad is it?" he asked.

Raven said nothing.

"That bad huh?"

"I'm not an expert but I _think_ it might be infected," Raven said hesitantly.

"No shit, dumbass."

"Well what do we do?"

The genuine concern took him by surprise, if it was the other way around Niko would have killed him in a nanosecond and called it putting him out of his misery.

"Back when we were scoping out the arena I remember there was a drug store a block from here, we'll pick up some antibiotics and more food."

Raven helped him to his feet and Niko led the way. It was exactly as he remembered it, a large glass building before a major intersection. The doors opened automatically and they stepped inside. Raven was mesmerized by the modern pills and tablets as he strolled down the aisles, he suposed he had only ever seen herbs and plants where he came from.

"It should be around here," Niko murmured, running his fingers down the labels on the shelves. He knew what he had to take, back at the academy he had his fair share of penetrating wounds and knew the routine.

Cephalexin 500 mg, Augmentin 500 mg, and Ampicillin 1.5-3 g. He found the bottles easily and poured the pills onto his palm, then into his mouth and chased it with a gulp of water. It was too early to feel the effects of the medication but he let out a sigh of relief. With the antibiotics, he was going to be fine.

"Let's take a break, until the medication takes effect," Raven suggested.

Niko didn't even bother to argue and the two boys sat down on the floor next to each other. They opened wrappers of protein bars and ate without speaking.

Now that he thought about it there was no difficulty finding good or water this year in the arena. He wondered if anyone would be stupid enough to actually die of hunger but he couldn't be sure, some of the outer Districts had been known to send in real dumb shitheaded tributes in the past.

_Now I think I understand_

_How this world can overcome a man_

Raven was singing softly.

"Fuck not that song," Niko muttered, throwing down his water bottle and watching the water spill and spread on the floor.

"You know that song too?" Raven was surprised.

Niko grit his teeth. "Yeah, it's fucking depressing." He glanced at Raven. "Tell me about District 12," he said, anything to get away from that song.

Raven turned to him warily. "What do you want to know?"

"Is it a good place to live?" Suddenly he felt shy. "I mean obviously not for people like you... but for the Peacekeepers?"

The strange question seemed to take him by surprise. "Can't really answer. Too busy trying survive to care about whether the Peacekeepers are comfortable," he said guardedly.

Niko nodded, looking down at the floor. They sat in silence once again.

"How do you do it?" Raven asked.

"Do what?"

"Willingly volunteer to die in Hunger Games. Every year District Two loses at least one life, often both, so is it really worth it?"

Niko shrugged. "It's not really about how many lives are lost, it's about the honour. Guess it comes from our roots, back when District Two bred mercenaries. The first rule was 'no matter what, even if you have to take a mission that you are sure you won't return from, never desert your division. Because you don't fight for yourself, you fight for the pride of your entire country.'"

"And the pride of your country is worth dying for?" Raven was incredulous.

He blew out his breath impatiently. "What's so hard to believe? District 2 doesn't raise cowards."

"Is it true what they say about the Careers in District Two?"

Niko glared at him impatiently. "What do they say about us in piss-water District 12 now?"

"That you kill condemned criminals as part of your training, a test if you can actually kill."

He turned to him with a wicked smirk. "Yeah. And the elderly, disabled, and mentally insane," he said casually at Raven's stunned face. "It's not something pleasant, not even something we enjoy but it's what we have to do. Like a job or a business it's just our industry you know? Historically while you guys were in the coal mining business we were in the 'murda bizness'," he said in a mock-street accent.

Raven made a face. "That's barbaric."

"Don't act so high and mighty, tell me, what happens to the people who can't work in Twelve, the discards of society?" he challenged.

Raven looked away and nothing.

"They starve to death, slowly and painfully. At least in Two they have a quick ending which serves a purpose," said Niko.

Raven slumped his shoulders and hugged his knees to his chest. "Do you really want to know what life is like in District 12?" he asked. He didn't wait for an answer. "It's like this, grueling work, long hours, always being tired while knowing that there's never enough money. Picture young miners coughing up black tar from their lungs and then going back for more because they accept the fact they aren't going to live that long anyway. Picture orphans and single-headed families who suffer a blow but have to keep moving forward until they just can't. But you know what the worst thing is? The burning resentment anyone better off because the only thing you have is to blame someone else and the shame that follows because it's really no one's fault."

_So it's just like the Rift._

Niko could almost hear the sound of rain pitter patter on the scrap of tin for a roof and feel the cold sink deep into his bones, his breath began to fog in front of his lips and- he quickly shook the memories out of his head, he didn't have enough time for that.

He got to his feet, brushing the dirt off his knees. "Come on, break's over let's go."

The doors opened automatically for them again when they left. The two boys continued walking down the streets and had come across some sort of shopping district when televisions behind the store window flicked on.

"And welcome to day eight of the Forty-Sixth annual Hunger Games! Let's take a look at what are tributes are doing, shall we?"

Raven skidded to a halt and took a step back to watch the television.

"Wait a minute, it's the mandatory broadcast," he said in awe.

"Don't believe a word they say," Niko warned, "that's how they got us with lizard mutts when they told us it was another tribute."

"A whole bunch of wild cards this year," Templesmith continued, "let's take a look at the boy from Twelve who has allied himself with one of the strongest players in the Games."

The cameras flipped through shots of the two of them walking side by side through the shopping district.

"That part's true," Raven murmured, eyes glued to the screen.

"Will they run into the alliance of the tributes from Three and Five who have set up their base in the business district?"

The cameras panned to the outside of a shining office building, the girls from Five and Three dozing in padded swiveling chairs while the boy from Three frowned at the computer in front of him.

"Forget it," Niko snapped. "It's a trap, let's go."

"I know you said they lied on radio, but they can't lie about video, it's them right there!" he protested.

"It's the Capitol, they can edit videos to show anything, dumbass. Now come on let's go," he snapped and walked away.

Raven reluctantly tore himself from the screens and followed.

"So that was it then, it was lizard mutts that killed your allies and separated you from the boy from Four?"

Niko looked away and walked faster. "Yeah, that's what it was."

**Dexter Soo, District 3 Male**

He glanced over at the list of materials on Tally's list, written in her harsh block letters.

**Uranium-235 10 pounds**

**Calcium tablets from drug several ladlefuls**

**Gloves**

**Lead apron**

**Mask**

**Stainless steel bowls (a couple)**

**Hammer**

**Old canister-type vacuum cleaner**

**Gunpowder, preferably C4 explosive**

**Batteries**

**Lithium deuteride powder from chemical supply store**

**Glass jars**

**Wireless detonators**

"Wait, go back."

Dexter swiped right back to a screen of a shelve of pill bottles.

"Zoom in on that label."

Dexter pinched and released.

"Calcium supplement tablets, 1000mg OK," Tally checked it off and scribbled where it was found on her notepad. Her eyes were rimmed red and she stifled a yawn. Dexter glanced at her notes, strange equations and symbols he didn't recognize and the list of materials she wrote out.

There was a chemical supply store in the arena with the lithium deuteride on their list, but apparently only Uranium-238 and not the Uranium-235 that Tally needed.

He glanced down at the list of supplies, iron apron, gloves, masks, at times she had made substitutions and crossed out original materials while replacing them with stainless steel salad bowls, glass jars, and canister-type vacuum cleaners.

Tally had said she knew what she was doing but Dexter couldn't help but have his doubts.

"Ok, that was the last thing on the list but we need the most crucial ingredient, purified uranium, it won't work without it. Also, I don't know what we're going to do about the wireless detonators."

"Wasn't there uranium in that chemical supply store?"

"Yeah but it was Uranium-238 and I need Uranium-235. I don't know how to purify it. If only Nobyl were here, he would know," she sighed.

_If only._

There was a pause as they mourned their ally that never survived.

"You know, isn't it a bit strange that we were reaped together? I mean, all our skills are perfect for each other," Cabel said.

Tally brushed a strand of red hair out of her face impatiently. "Yeah, I thought so too. Do you guys think..." she hesitated, " that the Reapings were rigged this year?"

The question was met with silence.

_The Reapings are rigged_ every _year._

Dexter knew, because you don't secretly hack into the government's computer system without discovering a few secrets. Like the fact the Capitol pre-selected a few tributes and only printed out their names to ensure that they had certain personalities for the Games that year.

It was only this year that the encryption for the Reaping slip print-outs displayed an error when he tried to view whatever unlucky names had been chosen, and what do you know, it was just his luck that it was him.

"Well let's collect what we can and worry about the rest," Cabel suggested. "We can use my drone, it shouldn't take too long."

Dexter frowned and tapped a series of keys to bring up a new screen. "You hooked up the camera footage to stream to my laptop but can your drone open doors and pick up objects?"

"Stand back."

She powered on the controls and the motorized helicopter roared to life. With a push of a lever, the drone went crashing through the window. The glass shattered, shards littering the carpet yet there wasn't a single scratch on the flying copter.

"It doesn't need to open doors if it can break in through windows. And with it's reverse vacuum it can pick up anything within fifty pounds. You watch carefully from the arena's birds eye view for trouble while I pilot it from my drone's view.

He watched on the video screens on the left as Cabel watched from the right. The drone flew across the city and Cabel carefully lowered it down to the windows and rammed it through the glass into the chemical supply store.

The drone hovered next to the shelves of lithium deuteride, solid grey flakes packaged in polyethylene bottles, turned ninety degrees, and appeared to suction the bottles against itself before quickly righting itself.

It flew out again and through the cameras he watched the rapid return journey back through the window it crashed from. Cabel removed the bottles and sent it out on its way again.

His heart beat hopefully at how easy this all was and he found himself unconsciously rubbing the bump of the Tracker in his arm. This might be too far away tot think about but he knew that right now they were transmitting information about his location and vital signs to a computer in the Capitol where it would signal a canon once it no longer detected a heartbeat.

But it could also be tricked, he knew. Because he had been watching one year secretly while his own security parameters were set up and one of the tributes' Tracker had quickly flatlined. On television the canon sounded and the hovercraft had come to collect the body, but a few minutes later the Tracker started up again. He was puzzled and watched the location move from the arena to a place outside the map, that had never happened before.

"Next we should really pick up the gloves and stuff," Cabel suggested, jolting back to the present.

He nodded and watched the drone fly off. He flicked to the screen of the chemical supply store again, waiting for it to pop into view.

"Strange, I don't remember knocking all those bottles on the floor," she said with worry. "Do you see any mutts or anything?" Her eyes flicked to his side of the screen and almost dropped the controller in surprise.

The screens didn't match.

His blood went cold and his mouth suddenly felt dry. He licked his lips nervously, hoping that their was some mistake, but there wasn't. How naive he was to think the Gamemakers would let themselves be hacked so easily with only a single firewall! Of course it was too good to be true, they had been leading him on from the start and letting him think he broke through their security when really they had been controlling him the whole time.

"What do you see guys?" Tally asked anxiously from her seat across the laptop.

He stared in disbelief at his screen where the store was exactly as if was before they entered, chemicals neatly stocked on the shelves, drone not in sight.

"Nothing. That's the problem."

**Bobby Jean "Blight" Oakley, District 7 Male**

"Th-they forced us to turn back," Sabine whispered as they drove back into the city. "Change of plans, we just try to stay on the outskirts and try to-try to..." her voice faded and Blight stopped the car suddenly and parked in the middle of the road.

He studied her carefully. "Sabine, are you alright?" he asked. She had turned deathly pale and had wrapped her arms around herself shivering.

"I-I feel so cold," she whispered.

"Shhh, just lay down." They moved to the backseats and he covered her with his shirt and felt her forehead like his ma would. Even before he touched her he could feel the heat emanating from her forehead.

He cursed and dug through his bag for the pills he had grabbed in the drug store so many days ago. His hands closed around the bright blue pills that he had instinctively took from the shelves.

Right, the Viagra! He fed her a pill which she swallowed weakly. Then he helped her lie back down in the back seats and covered her with his shirt.

An hour she fell asleep. He strummed his fingers anxiously on the wheel and wondered what he should do.

People in the Sticks got fevers sometimes and it never a good thing. His ma often said a fever was just a symptom of something even more dangerous, and she was right. The last time sickness had descended in the Sticks everybody had been so sick they couldn't work and the Capitol has to fly in their fancy medicine.

He felt her forehead again and there was no change in her condition.

Not knowing what else to do, he nervously fed her another Viagra because it was the only thing he could do.

Suddenly a silver parachute marked with a '6' came floating down and he grabbed it in midair and tore open the metal casing. He was desperately hoping for medicine but instead it was only a piece of paper folded into quarters.

He unfolded it hurriedly to see the worst handwriting in the world. After a full minute of trying to decipher the messy scrawl he realized it said 800mg Mydixadryll 4x daily.

Blight could vaguely remember the name as a pill that he had passed up in the drug store, all he bad to do was drive there and get it.

"Sabine," he whispered.

"Yeah Blight?" she whispered weakly.

"You need medicine and it's at the drug store so I'm going to continue driving for a while OK?"

"But it means we have to go back to the arena," she said deliriously with unfocused eyes and a faraway voice.

"I know enough, it'll be alright. Just go to sleep."

Sabine looked like she wanted to argue but was too tired and simply closed her eyes and collapsed.

Blight got back into the driver's seat and turned the key. He pressed the pedal on the car and it roared to life but it didn't move. What did Sabine do? His eyes fell to the stick beside him and he remembered to push it to D.

The car began to inch forward despite him not pressing on the gas pedal and he slammed on the brakes in surprise before he remembered it was supposed to do that. He gave himself a minute to compose himself, and stepped on the gas pedal to start his journey into the heart of the city.

* * *

**A/N The song Raven was singing was Fiction by Avenged Sevenfold. Go listen to it. When I think about it Locked and Loaded is kinda my first novel. I read somewhere that this author wrote 6 novels before he was published, maybe after practice I'll get better?**

**On my other story (Hunger Games Origins) I've started putting up illustrations on deviantart. I'm as good at drawing as I am as good at writing in other words I better not quit my day job XD. Here's to hoping I'll get better.**

**Next chapter: The Illicit Actuality. Try to guess which alliance will be featured in that chapter.**

**Still in play:**

**Niko & Raven**

**Dexter & Cabel & Tally**

**Marlin (alone)**

**Sabine & Blight**

**Lyssa (alone)**


	17. Chapter 17

  


Chapter 17 The Illicit Actuality

**Cabel Ren, District 3 Female**

Cabel muttered a curse under her breath.

"Nothing? What do you mean nothing!?" Tally demanded.

"Take a look for yourself."

Tally jogged over to stare at Dexter's side of the screen where the drone wasn't in sight. Then her eyes flicked to Cabel's side of the screen where the drone was clearly hovering in the building.

"The Gamemakers played me like an idiot, they put that camera on loop and I fell for it," Dexter sighed in frustration. He banged a fist on the table and sank his head in his hands.

_Is it all over for us?_

The girls looked at each other nervously. "Well the camera on the drone still works and the location of the supplies are the same," Cabel noted. "Let's just keep going."

For the rest of the day they continued flying the drone back and forth, collecting materials as Tally crossed them off her list. Cabel was sure the Gamemakers could hear her heart pounding with every trip her drone made but as time ticked by and nothing happened she relaxed, surprised at how tensed her shoulders and jaw had become without her noticing. They continued to avoid running into trouble and slowly, her racing heart steadied.

"Other than the Uranium and detonators, all that's left is the calcium tablets," she murmured to herself and flew her drone to the pharmacy.

**Bobby Jean "Blight" Oakley, District 7 Male**

He slammed on the brakes so hard that Sabine rolled onto the floor and his body jerked forward, luckily he was wearing a seatbelt so he only slammed backwards in his seat.

He shifted the car to P, picked up unconscious Sabine and settled her back on the seat. It wasn't good, she was slick with sweat and murmuring something feverishy.

After making sure she was safe he ran into the pharmacy for the second time in the Games.

"Mydixadryll, Mydixadryll, where is it?" He murmured, scattering bottles of pills to the ground in his haste. He raced to the next shelf and froze when he heard a low whirring behind him.

It was like a scene from a movie. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned his head backwards to see what looked like a miniature black helicopter hovering next to one of the shelves. A whoosh of air later and several bottles attached themselves to the side of the flying object and started heading for the automatic doors.

Only when the doors open did he snap back to reality and on instinct he raised his rifle.

_Bang!_

Whatever it was, the bullet pierced through it easily and it burst apart and fell out of the air in a cloud of sparks. The bottles of tablets fell to the floor with a rattle, one rolled to his feet.

He picked it up and squinted. _Calcium tablets?_ It didn't make any sense to him but he had something more important at hand.

He turned back to his original task and frantically alternated craning his neck and ducking his head to read the labels for the drug he needed. Many shelves later he swore he had went through the whole store but he still couldn't find it.

Spying more bottles behind the cashier's desk, he hopped over it and tripped over a loaded shotgun. _Better take it just in case._ He quickly stuffed it into the waistband of his pants and began frantically searching behind the desk.

There! He found the bottle, labelled with a white sticker and neat print and grabbed it from behind the glass display. He raced back out to Sabine and forced one into her mouth. He clamped her mouth shut and stroked her throat until she swallowed, a trick his ma used on him when he was a kid.

"C'mon Sabine it's good for you," he coaxed. It was like magic. When she opened one eye and smiled weakly he knew she would be alright. A grin spread across his face and he could feel his heart race, why, he wouldnt know.

A few minutes later she gave a shuddering sigh and heaved herself up.

"I don't know what medicine the Capitol has, but I think I feel better already."

"So what do we do next?"

"Let me think." She held a fist to her temple as if she had a headache. Suddenly Blight felt bad for rushing her so soon after she had just been on the brink of dying.

"We'll head south instead. Because it has to end somewhere, right?" she said, almost begging him to agree with her. "The arena can't go on forever."

"What do you think we'll find?" Blight asked.

There was a pause. He stared at her, she stared at him, and neither of them said a word because there were just some things that they didn't want the Gamemakers to know.

"I dunno, maybe something that would help us," was her answer as she turned away.

_Or maybe someone._

He sighed and climbed back into the driver's seat while she slid in the passenger seat next to him.

They continued, this time heading south, in silence. As he drove Blight's mind wandered to the stories the old-timers around the Sticks remembered about the countries before they became Panem. Somewhere between the Cataclysm which had wiped out the Eastern hemisphere and devastated the Pan-American League and the Dark Days, there has been the signing of the Treaty of Panem. But not all of the remaining countries signed. Or so it was told.

"Sabine, d'you think it's true about out-District countries still bein' out there?"

She frowned. "I'm not sure, maybe. I know that the out-District country closest to District Six is the Sand country."

"Really? 'Round my area all the old-timers talk 'bout the Smoke country," he replied without taking his eyes off the road.

"Figures. The stories about the Smoke country are the craziest. The Sand, the Smoke," she ticked them off on her fingers, "there's one more country but I can't remember what it was called.

"Blight frowned and his brow creased in concentration as he tried to remember. "Not sure cause there's so little about it but I think it was called The Hidden."

**Cabel Ren, District 3 Female**

"The boy from Seven," Cabel groaned. She slammed her head into her arms flat on the table. All that work, destroyed with a single bullet.

"What do we do now? We still don't have all the materials!"

The three of them were silent, trying to come up with the best possible solution for the problem.

"The drug store's not too far from here," Cabel murmured as she checked the cameras by swiping left and right. "I could probably just walk there and back, easy."

"Oh no, you're not planning on actually going yourself are you?" Tally nearly fell out of her seat in alarm.

"It'll be fine, in an hour he'll be long gone."

"But what about another tribute? Or mutts? Or a trap?" Dexter protested.

"We can't just sit here, when it's _right there_ ," she insisted.

Tally blew out her breath in exasperation. "It's dangerous."

"I know, but some things you just gotta do."

Tally looked like she wanted to argue but shook her head and sighed. "Are you sure you want to do something so risky?"

Cabel gulped and looked her straight in the eye. "I'm sure." Before anyone could stop her she grabbed an empty pack on the ground and raced out the door.

* * *

Even when she was young she knew her parents were up to something. Covert looks, hushed conversations, warning her to mind her own business, it didn't take a genius to know they were trying to keep a secret from her.

Her family had always been well-off. They weren't part of the sea of assembly line workers who spent Twelve hour shifts six days a week on mind-numbingly boring tasks, they were engineering consultants that the Capitol called upon and trusted which meant that they amassed an extensive list of influential contacts.

And it didn't take a genius to know that not everybody in the Capitol was an insipid simpering fool-though some used it as a disguise, evidently some of her parents' contacts were actually people who saw through the Capitol's corruption and wanted to help.

"She's just a girl, it's dangerous." Cabel heard her mother whisper one night when she was supposed to be asleep.

"Exactly, no one would question a child," her father hissed back.

She had wondered what her parents were always hiding from her. Would tomorrow be the day that she found out?

"Cabel," her father began casually over breakfast the next day, "after school could you pick up a dozen pork buns from the vendor near the train station?

She accepted the crisp bills that he counted catefully from his wallet and tucked them in her school bag. "Sure dad. Why?"

"Because we're working late today and won't have time to cook dinner."

The corners of her mouth dropped. Maybe today wasn't the day.

After school she had hurried over to the vendor her parents had instructed her to buy from. He barely glanced over his newspaper at her when he took her money and passed her a white box tied with plastic ribbon.

She raced home and instead of waiting for her parents she untied the ribbon and pulled open the box eagerly.

Inside were twelve pork buns. White and fluffy with the savory red pork steaming through the cracks in the centre. She searched the box up and down and even lifted the greasy paper underneath to check for a note, a hidden message, anything, but there was nothing but pork buns.

They ate them for dinner that night and they tasted like pork and disappointment.

"Will you be alright by yourself this weekend? We're having lunch with auntie and uncle this Sunday and working on a big project."

"Can I come?" she asked hopefully.

"Sorry sweetheart, but you're too young. Maybe when you're older." _But I'm old nowwww._ Her mouth turned down in disappointment.

It wasn't that day, but the day she turned twelve did her parents tell her what she had already suspected from the start. They were part of the secret rebellion, alive but underground. Like the graffiti that kept on appearing on the building walls before they were hurriedly erased by the Peacekeepers, the fight against the Capitol was something that couldn't be extinguished.

They told her many things, including where in District Three conversations were bugged, how to neutralize them, oh and that it was the money that had an invisible code on it which translated into secret messages.

"You're old enough to know, and you're old enough to make a choice if you want to be a part of it, but we have to warn you it's risky."

They themselves barely knew anything except for what they absolutely had to know, including the identities of other rebels. "So we can't give it all away if we're captured and interrogated," they explained.

"Because if you're ever caught, you're going to be tortured for any information you know. The Capitol's Special Operations Police don't play around. Are you sure you want to be in the rebellion?"

"I'm sure." There wasn't any other answer in her mind.

* * *

Cabel hugged her bag to her chest, hidden in an alley between buildings. She glanced out at the LED display clock. An hour had passed.

"I'm going now, I'll be back," she promised, more to herself than anything.

It was only a few blocks from the business district to the shopping district and she darted through the abandoned streets quickly. Cabel slowed down near the drug store and peered round the corner.

She let out a sigh of relief when she saw that no one was around and ran forward to scoop up the bottles on the floor into her bag. When she was finished she sprinted back to her allies, the rattling of the pills against her back screaming at her to run.

"I'm back," she gasped when she slid open the door.

She dumped the contents of her bag on the table and looked up at her allies hopefully.

"That's great," said Tally. There was a sort of self-conscious stiffness in her voice. "While you were away me and Dexter realized that while the arena may not have the purified Uranium we need, our mentors can send it to us, as long as they have sufficient funds and it's on the list of approved gifts."

Cabel cocked her head curiously. "Okay."

"So we decided to put on a presentation to convince the audience why they should sponsor us."

Cabel's eyes widened. Of course, she had been focused on survival she had almost forgotten they were all being watched by thousands of eager Capitolites who were able to help them.

But she hated class presentations enough in school, all of a sudden Cabel realized that everybody was watching her right now and felt unreasonably shy.

"Um, okay, I finished typing up the key points," Dexter mumbled robotically. He pushed a key and the projector board on the wall broadcasted 'Why You Should Be Part Of The Greatest Weapon of Mass Destruction in Hunger Games History'.

"This is so humiliating, it's probably what begging for grant money feels like," Tally muttered. "But if I have to present you guys have to speak too."

"I don't know what to say," Cabel protested.

"Just read off the slides. You go first."

Dexter pushed another key and the first slide popped up.

"Ah um, as you can see we need your help. There are quite a few tributes left and in order for us to take them out we're planning on building what's known as a thermonuclear bomb." Cabel's voice sounded awkward even to her own ears. God she hated presentations.

"How it works is that we are actually creating three atomic bombs that will detonate simultaneously. When the detonator sets off the three atomic bombs, all six hemispheres of fissionable material will collide into each other at the same time creating three critical masses and three detonations which will build up to create an extremely high temperature necessary to fuse lithium deuteride into helium. The result is an enormous amount of energy in the form of a massive explosion, blowing up everything in a certain radius."

Dexter flipped to a slide with crude drawings of stick figures with X eyes and tongues sticking out in front of a mushroom cloud with a Kaboom! overhead.

"So, um, yeah this is where you come in, if you live in the Capitol please see the District Three or Five mentors who will be happy to accept your sponsorship and assist us. If you live in District Three or Five please drop off your donation at the Justice Building and the Mayor will see that we recieve it," he concluded lamely.

There was an awkward pause.

"Ummm, the end?"

**Beetee Latier, District 3 Mentor**

He licked his lips and cringed in sympathy at the sheer awkwardness of the presentation his tributes had put on, but he knew what they were doing. It could work, if they got the right materials, decided.

"Come on Wiress, we have to help Dexter and Cabel," he said gently, taking her by the hand and getting up from the sofa.

They walked past the other mentors, tensions running high as they approached the top eight.

Old Maddy Donner whose eyes were glued on the screen as if it was her favourite drama watched her boy working together with the traitorous boy from Two. So far District 12 was the only District to have only a single victor mentoring every year and the loneliness had clearly taken its toll.

"Watch yourself, that boy's not your friend," she murmured.

The only other mentor more dedicated was Sylvester from Six. Red-rimmed eyes and shaking from soldier pills, he looked worse than the tributes on camera.

"You doing ok Sly?" Beetee tapped his shoulder softly.

He nodded and gave a terse smile. "I'm fine. I've mentored so many kids before... I thought I was trying my hardest every time, but I didn't know how hard I could push myself when it's my own daughter."

Beetee murmured luck and met with old Bertrand from Five at the door. He was at the age where a bathrobe and fuzzy slippers in the mentor's headquarters was almost endearing in a grandfatherly way, on anyone younger it would have been slovenly.

Not even needing to exchange words, they nodded to each other in greeting and walked out into the crowded hallway towards the Gamemaker studio.

Bedazzled Capitolites with decked out in tall wigs and garish clothing begging for the spotlight milled away hallway with nothing better to do chattered loudly at each other, sometimes screeching to a friend a yard away.

Wiress began to wimper and she covered her eyes with her hands.

"It's ok, just close your eyes and picture your happy place. That's a good girl," Beetee said soothingly and placed his arm around her shoulders to guide her.

Unfortunately it was the wrong thing to do as excited murmurs of the newest victor having "unprofessional" relationships with her mentor arose.

"Great job Volts," Bertrand muttered sarcastically. "All the tabloids will have a cover feature about your sordid scandel by tomorrow." A small smile played about his lips was the only sign he was joking.

The guard admitted them into Camilla's office by face, no identification needed for three of the most famous people in Panem.

When they entered she was sitting cross-legged in a purple swivel chair watching the multiple surveillance screens with her back to the door.

"I know what you're here for and the answer is no," she said without turning around. "I will not be adding uranium-235 and wireless detonators on the list of approved sponsor gifts."

"Oh come on honey," Bertrand crooned, "think of what a good show an explosion would be. Everybody's clamouring to see it, let's go out with a real bang eh?"

"I'm sorry but it would give your tributes too much of an advantage and getting rid of the rest of the tributes in one sweep is just too much," she said flatly.

"Please Camilla, reconsider it," Beetee pleaded.

"I can't, now if you'll excuse me I'm very busy and I have to ask for you three to leave."

Beetee felt Wiress tugging on his sleeve shyly. She rubbed her thumb against her index and middle finger.

_Money?_

"Bud-budg-budget," she stuttered.

It suddenly dawned on him and he squeezed her hand in thanks.

"You went over budget didn't you?" he said slowly.

His accusation caught Camilla off guard and her eyes and mouth popped open in surprise before she managed to get her facial expressions under control.

"Y-yes, but that's nothing new. Spending always exceeds the anticipated costs, it happens every year," she stammered.

"But this year you went _way_ over," Beetee said as it became clearer to him, "there have been similar arenas in the past, abandoned cities that have had a few additions, but this city was designed and built from scratch."

It seemed to strike a nerve. "I've been designing his arena since I was fourteen, just adding things, tweaking it, to make sure it would be the most memorable and celebrated Games in history," she snapped. "Is it so wrong that I want the Games to be _interesting?"_

"The entire city? The cost must have been exhorbant." Bertrand raised his eyebrow.

"I know why you did it. There's been some political instability lately hasn't there? That's why you were told to distract the country, so that no one would pay attention to what's really going on. Maybe it has to do with a certain boy claiming his birthright in District 8?" Beetee asked. And Camilla flinched.

"Everyone's noticed the complete turnover, in escorts, Gamemakers, and even Flickerman and Templesmith," Bertrand said. "I swear, my escort doesn't know one end of the sponsor phone from her ass. Where did you find her?"

"They all have a connection to the Special Ops okay?" She whirled around and got up from her seat. "Everyone working on the Games this year does, because if we fail then we have to see our brothers, fathers, lovers work under that District bastard," she spat.

"The masses have been hounding the head of the Special Ops to take a paternity test because the media just loves that Paylor boy, and the only thing the masses love more is the Games. Yes I went over budget, but president Snow practically told me to."

"Oh ho Missy," Bertrand chuckled gently. "I've been doing this longer than you've been alive and let tell you this, if you fail Snow will have you packing your bags. But if you succeed with this honking big deficit you've set yourself up with you'll still be packing anyhow."

Her cheeks flushed an angry red and her cat's ears twitched erratically. "Well is it my fault for wanting my debut to be spectacular? These things cost money." They could all hear the desperate tone in her voice.

"And you can make it back," Beetee said soothingly. "Sponsors will be lining round the block, I dare say enough interest has been raised."

They watched the main screen, showing broadcasted footage where Caesar Flickerman was interviewing civilians on the street on whether or not they wanted the nuclear bomb to happen. The overwhelming majority enthused that they would.

"You help us with this, and we'll help you back."

Her eyes rose to meet Beetee's, electricity flashing, thousands of words unsaid of what the other knew, an entire chess match strategized and concluded, everything said but unsaid in that one glance.

She sighed and picked up her phone. "Fine. You win."

* * *

**A/N Next chapter: the game-changing devastating fight for the top eight. (Someone's gonna die) Stay tuned for The Ornithologic Confrontation. Try to predict what happens in that chapter (like who dies) :P**

**Still in play:**

**Niko & Raven**

**Dexter & Cabel & Tally**

**Marlin (alone)**

**Sabine & Blight**

**Lyssa (alone)**


	18. Chapter 18

  


Chapter 18 The Ornothologic Confrontation

**Raven Everdeen, District 12 Male**

It was night time in the arena, where swirls and tessellations of artificial stars twinkled against the inky backdrop of synthetic darkness. The leaping flames of their campfire flickered against their grim faces as they opened up cans of soup to cook on top of the burning branches.

_Dooo do doooo do_

The anthem sounded, then faded as quickly it came.

"No deaths for a couple days now," Niko noted, "Gamemakers are gonna be restless."

Raven nodded and pulled his rough-hewn cloak tighter around his shoulders. He had originally suggested sleeping inside one of the buildings for the night but Niko insisted that the buildings could be trapped and it was better to stay outside in case they needed to make a run for it.

Their food finished heating up and they carefully fished out their cans and ate quietly, nothing but the sound of fork against metal and the quiet chirp of crickets in the background.

"So you're the oldest sibling?" Raven asked, when his curiosity got the better of him.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Raven pointed to the medal on his shirt with his fork. "Where I come from, that medal is given to the oldest child when they've lost both parents."

Niko turned his head away and glared into the distance. "It's the same in Two then. But it's not mine, it's my sister's. She just gave it to me before she left on that train to District Twelve."

"You lost both parents too?"

There was long pause where Niko appeared to be thinking as he stared at the flickering flames with an unreadable expression on his face. Raven thought he wouldn't answer but something flashed across his eyes.

"Yes," he finally said.

"My mother was never very healthy, she died shortly after I was born. My sister basically raised me herself while my father worked to support the three of us, until one day there was an earthquake."

Raven nodded, a feeling of trepidation fluttering in his stomach. He could see where this was going.

"Two is surrounded by mountains, even a small tremor means bad news. My father was in one of the quarries when it collapsed. Accidents this big in District 2 are so rare that there was no protocol. Everybody, kids, teachers, shopkeepers just ran outside and made for the quarries. I found my sister in the crowd."

He looked away.

"That day, it was raining. In District 2 it's either raining or snowing but that day we didn't even bother to grab our jackets, we stood there in sweatshirts and jeans while the rain fell in sheets, sluicing our clothes and our skin but we were too stricken to notice. My sister was fifteen, I was seven. "

_That's how old Robin was,_ Raven thought with a pang.

"Our father didn't die from the accident though."

"Huh?" Raven suddenly looked up.

"He lost both his legs and couldn't work no more. And he didn't want to be a burden to us so he took a gun to his head."

Niko raised two fingers to his temple and mimed shooting himself.

"Bang! Right through his skull."

Raven felt something cold wash over from his chest to stomach. If anything that was even worse than what happened to him and Robin. He pictured a confused seven year old Niko who looked remarkably like Robin standing in front of man with a gun in his hand, helplessly watching him put it to the head and pulling the trigger.

"So what did you do?"

"We lived on the streets together until I turned ten and could move into the dorms. It was hard being homeless for so long, you know how cold winter gets in District Two? We ate from dumpsters and slept on the streets but we tried to keep ourselves clean and presentable so no one would find out. If anybody knew how badly we were living they would have taken us to the community home, but my sister was determined to keep us out of there and stay in the Peacekeeper Corps."

Raven nodded sagely. "Your sister, she was smart. Me and my brother actually ended up in the Community Home and it's every bit as horrible as they say it is."

"For real?"

"Yeah. The Matron clearly hated her job was unhappy so she would be damned if we were. Beatings for any little thing, no dinner if she was in an especially foul mood, and if you got sick there was no one to look after you. In the community home there's no way to confine disease, it one person gets sick it spreads from bed to bed like wildfire. I've seen kids actually die."

He closed his eyes and remembered Robin, cheeks flush and clammy after some bout of fever. It took Raven's unwavering dedication cooling his forehead with a wet washcloth and feeding him sips of gruel when he was too weak to eat to steal him away from death's grip. His brother got better, but the other sick children in neighbouring beds who had no one left and who called out for their mothers feverishly weren't so lucky. When the weather warmed up and the ground softened he and the older boys had spent the spring digging graves.

"You were probably better off on the streets," Raven said simply.

They settled down for the night, agreeing to sleep for four hours each.

Raven laid down on the ground and shifted around until he was less uncomfortable, but he couldn't fall asleep. For four troubled hours thoughts of his brother and how Robin would survive without him ran through his head like a nightmare. He was almost relieved to feel Niko shake him by the shoulder, telling him to wake up.

Raven sat up and watched Niko simply fall and close his eyes. Within minutes he was snoring softly.

Feeding another branch to the fire, he glanced at his sleeping in ally. In his sleep he looked younger, more vulnerable. For some reason he was reminded of his brother Robin, which made no sense. Niko actually taller than Raven and had a physique which told him that although he might have gone hungry in his youth, he had never truly starved. He rubbed his eyes and slapped his cheeks gently to wake up but nevertheless decided to take off his cloak and tucked it over Niko's shoulders so he wouldn't be cold.

.

The next morning, under the artificial pink-orange sunrise they continued eastward.

"We better find someone today and make a kill, or the Gamemakers will make something kill us," Niko warned him.

They kept walking until the buildings gradually became smaller and dingier until they came to a part where the buildings were simply cramped slums piled on top of each other, a shantytown of slanted tarpaulin roofs and sagging clotheslines.

"Hey, I know this place," Niko said suddenly. "On the first day we passed by, there was a garage here and we picked up a car. We should try and see if we can get another and-"

_Tpp tpp tpp_

The sounds of fading footsteps caused them to whirl around.

"What was that?"

They caught a glimpse of long blonde hair turning a corner and they quickly went after it, deducing that it was the girl from Eight, and using their ears to follow the sounds of her footsteps when they couldn't see her. She led them on a winding chase like a game of cat and mouse throughout the area but Raven and Niko kept on her heels, following the flashes of blonde.

They skidded a corner and looked around, in front of them was a large wooden building with a rusted tin roof at the end of a dock. The girl from Eight was nowhere to be seen.

"C'mon she most be inside that building."

They slammed the doors open and burst in dramatically as if busting a raid like Peacekeepers in a Capitol drama. Still nothing.

The two boys stepped inside and began looking the building up and down. It was an abandoned fishery warehouse, one lone light swinging from the metal rafters, hooks and pulleys suspended from the ceiling, and amoung wooden pallets and boxes the water lapped gently in the centre of the building devoid of fish.

Upon closer inspection Raven spied a the edge of a checkered skirt peeping from one of the barrels at the side. He pointed it out to Niko who nodded and they approached cautiously.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Niko opened fire and riddled the barrel with holes. The wooden barrel flew into the air but it was empty, inside there was nothing but a skirt and top which fluttered to the ground.

Before they could puzzle out the meaning of it a zing went through the air and out of nowhere, a bucket of gasoline doused them both.

They heard the hiss of a match being struck and looked up to see the girl from Eight, standing naked on a platform with a box of matches in her hand.

Completely surprised by the gasoline and caught off-guard, they stared at her nude form, entranced by her hypnotic body. Neither boy had many opportunities to see a naked girl in their Districts.

The girl from Eight smiled and slowly released the match which fell slowly, ever so slowly towards the ground. Before the light could meet the gasoline they snapped back to attention and hastily retreated. On instinct they waded into the shallow end of the murky water of the pool in the centre, removing their gasoline-soaked clothes as they went.

"Ouch!"

As he swam deeper into the water Raven felt something cut his cheek, he turned to see the red blood swirling in the water before it dispersed.

"Shit!" Niko yelped. "It's invisible wire, she must have strung it around the enclosure!"

But by now they were in the middle of the tank, treading water frantically looking for areas free of the razor sharp wire to swim back.

The girl from Eight reappeared, holding an actual hose of gasoline which she began pouring in the enclosure.

They watched in horror as the gasoline floated to the top of the water, the greasy black oil spots spreading slowly throughout the surface.

Raven tried to swim away, only to feel his skin sliced by the wire he couldn't see in the pool. In sheer desperation with nothing else to try he took a gulp of air and dove straight under.

Just as he thought, the girl from Eight wasn't a good enough swimmer to be able to trip-wire the bottom of the pool as well. He swam over to a corner and broke the surface, gasping for air. A few seconds later Niko popped up beside him. The two boys climbed out and made a dash for their clothes and weapons in the shallows.

"Where did you learn how to swim like that in Twelve?" Niko panted as they ran.

"We have a big bathtub at home," he replied.

The girl from Eight looked surprised, but quickly recovered and made a break for the doors. Raven and Niko dressed quickly, grabbed their respective weapons and chased her down by following the oily black footprints.

_Bang! Bang!_

Niko had already began to start shooting and Raven quickly nocked his bow. The bullets pinged against the brick buildings but the girl from Eight ducked and dodged, swerving around corners trying to lose them. She ducked behind a corner and Raven turned as well, but felt something sharp cut into his shoulder.

"Shit, how much wire does she have?" Niko muttered, looking around. He stopped and squinted against the sun. "There! Do you see it?"

Raven squinted and could make out thin glints of the taut wire at varying angles and heights. "Yeah, I see it," he called back.

The two boys ducked and twisted around the wires, following the wet footprints until they suddenly disappeared.

"Where did she go?"

They both stopped in their tracks and noticed the metal ladder leading to the fire escape. Raven and Niko craned their heads to look up until they saw her sitting several stories high still naked, feet dangling over a balcony. She smiled and gave them a little wave.

"How's everything with you?" she called down cheerfully.

This took them aback and puzzled Raven until he realized that the Hunger Games was in essence a show for the Capitol. He scowled at her cleverness, he had to admit, in his mind he knew that the crowd was loving it.

"Well enough," said Niko. "Yourself?"

"It's been a bit warm for my taste," she said. Raven could almost hear the laughter from the Capitol. "The air's better up here. Why don't you come on up?"

Raven narrowed his eyes. "I think I will." He clenched his teeth and launched himself up the fire escape.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

He turned his head to see his ally scaling the adjacent fire escape, taking rapid-fire shots at the girl from Eight.

Looking much less pleased, she swung herself back behind the ledge to safety. Raven climbed faster, ready to reach her. He was just at the top when he heard a soft click from the building across.

"Shit, I'm out of ammo!"

Somewhere behind him he heard the scraw of a bird.

The girl from Eight poked her head out and peered down at Raven. Suddenly, with both hands on the rail and none on his bow he realized that he had made a very grave mistake. She gave a wicked grin and got up to push him down.

Raven clutched the railing and braced himself for the eventual blow.

_Bang!_

He saw the girl from Eight's eyes widen before she stumbled back. She gasped in pain and blood gurgled to her mouth. She tried to cough, but it sounded like the wet hacking coughs of the middle aged coal miners in the Seam who had managed to make it that long. He climbed up a few more rungs and peered over the ledge to see the girl from Eight crumple to the ground, eyes still open in surprise, a bloody hole in the centre of her chest. The boom of her cannon sounded, and she stopped moving. Raven shuddered and closed his eyes but it was no use, the sight would probably be forever burned in his mind. He slowly felt around until he got a better handhold and climbed down.

"I-I thought you said you were out of ammo," he stammered when Niko jumped down beside him. He was still cold from the chilling image of the girl from Eight's body.

Niko frowned. "Yeah I was, but all of a sudden a fresh magazine fell from the talons of this bird. Almost slipped through my fingers too."

Raven blinked out of his fog. "What?"

"Look up." Niko pointed a finger straight up. Raven followed the direction he was pointing to see a stately black bird soaring in circles above them before it swooped away into the clouds. He almost wanted to laugh.

"That's a raven!"

"Like your name?"

"Yeah! The Gamemakers must have thought it would be funny or something, cause you're allies with a Raven." They looked at each other, then suddenly burst out laughing. It wasn't even that funny but he guessed it must have been the residual exhilaration of the narrow save that they weren't acting sensibly.

The laughter died down and Niko grew pensive. "Top eight now. You know how it goes, usually the remaining Careers in the alliance split up here."

"Wait, I'm considered part of the Career alliance?"

Niko shrugged. "You're with me and we're in an alliance. You've seen this happen before, we walk away from each other and next time we meet you try to kill me, cause you know I'll be trying to kill you."

"Are you serious?" Raven asked in a daze.

" You know, I initially planned on slitting your throat in your sleep but what the hell, for the rest of the Games I'll play fair." He reached out his hand to shake and Raven's trembling hand met his.

"Well, may the odds be in your favour and all that." Niko gave him a backhanded wave as he walked off, Raven having an indescribable urge to follow and stay with the one ally he had made in the Games.

But he too knew the alliance couldn't last forever, and with a heavy heart turned to walk away.

**Marlin Rodriguez, District 4 Male**

Marlin heard the cannon sound and looked off in the distance.

"Niko was that you, you bastard?" he muttered darkly.

The small fishing boat swayed and rocked with every ebb of the tide, a dingy skiff with peeling yellow paint he had found tied to a dock. He clutched his fishing rod tighter when it gave a sudden jerk and pulled in the unlucky creature that had taken the nibble.

It was a red snapper, still twitching when it flopped on deck. He smirked as he picked it up, but not because he could eat it.

Marlin casually cracked its spine and tossed the snapper back overboard.

**Tallulah "Tally" Cooper, District 5 Female**

"Do you think it'll work? It's been almost a day," Tally complained, sitting with her knees clutched to her chest on one of the spinning chairs. She pushed off with her hand on the edge of the table to make the chair spin around as if she was a child.

"Give our mentors some time, it takes a while," Dexter replied.

They had spent the last day nervously waiting for the supplies to drop, simply just eating and sleeping and worrying.

An hour crept by. Then another. And just when Tally had thought that Bertrand had forgot about them, a flash of movement outside the window caught her eye and the parachutes began to fall.

Fifty-five gallon steel drums labelled "Fissible Material" fell with a thud in front of the shattered glass window followed by three remote controlled detonators, black cylinders with a grey button at the top.

Tally eagerly pulled out a knife and sliced a drum open to reveal several small cans stacked in five-inch cylinders braced with welded struts in the center.

"I can't believe it, they actually got it," she whispered in awe. She pulled on an iron facemask and used tongs to extract the Uranium, a metallic grey solid from a can and dropped it into a bucket. The material had held the shape of the can it was contained in but slowly melted to take the shape of the bucket.

"Um, isn't handling it like that dangerous?" Cabel asked hesitantly from across the room.

She shook her head. "Uranium isn't dangerously radioactive in the amounts we're handling. And besides, leukemia doesn't set in for a few days anyway. Now to convert it back to metal form." She cracked open several bottles of calcium and poured the contents into each bucket of Uranium. They stood back as it bubbled.

"What's it doing?"

"It's reacting with Uranium Hexafluoride and producing calcium fluoride salt." She used a slotted spoon to skim out the white solid which had formed and risen to the top. Although kitchenware wasn't exactly ideal, it worked.

She scooped out the metal which was soft and malleable and hammered some into each bowl and duct-taped each bowl to the inside of a vacuum cleaner canister. "These two bowls of U-235 are the subcritical masses which, when brought together forcefully, will provide the critical mass to start the reaction," she explained.

"Are you sure it'll work with kitchen bowls and a vacuum cleaner?" Dexter asked doubtfully.

"As long as it's stainless steel containers it's good, the point is to reflect the neutrons back into the uranium for a more efficient explosion. Now where's the C4 plastic explosive?"

Cabel handed her a block of dark green clay-like material.

"We could have used gunpowder as well, but C4 is better because you can mold it around the bowls, it's also fairly inert and chemically stable which makes it safe to work with. Now, once the explosives are in place all we need to do is hook up our detonation devices with the wavelength frequency which will cause the subcritical masses to drop."

She put all the parts inside the casings of the stainless steel vacuum cleaners.

"Alright, the lithium deuteride goes here, and three bombs around them." She handed a remote detonator each to Cabel and Dexter.

"We need to walk about five days to get to the outskirts of the city. On the fifth night, when you see the LED clock strike six, that's when you detonate. Not one second before or one second after, got that?"They nodded. They had all heard the cannon earlier that day and knew the three of them had made it to the top eight. Hopefully the tribute that had died wasn't the girl from Eight.

"Also," it pained Tally to say this,"there's no point in meeting up afterwards. In fact, it's best if we never run into each other after the explosion." She peeked at them shyly over her lashes.

"So I guess it's goodbye then?" Cabel asked softly.

The three of them looked at each other sadly. There were some things you couldn't do without becoming friends and working together in a televised fight to the death was one of them.

"Yeah. Thanks for everything guys, and good luck." She gave each of her allies an unexpected hug, furtively slipping a knife into their pockets.

Cabel and Dexter were smart, they would know what it was for.

* * *

**A/N I got all that dialogue about how to build a nuclear bomb with household materials from a website I found on Google. Disclaimer: Kids, please don't try this at home, but if any of you readers are actual experimental physicists, send me a PM, I would love to hear from you! Next chapter we leave the arena for the top 8 interviews. See you next week!**

**Still in play:**

**Niko & Raven**

**Dexter & Cabel & Tally**

**Marlin (alone)**

**Sabine & Blight**


	19. Chapter 19

  


Chapter 19 Down to the Wire

**Ellie May Woods, District 7 Mentor**

"Do you think your tribute has a chance?"

Ellie blinked blearily. "I-I guess so," she stammered, wanting the fake plastic woman and insect-like cameramen to just leave her alone. Their bright white smiles and blinding lights were making her head hurt, why did she have to do this? A small voice whispered that it was her punishment for surviving and she covered her face with her hands to shield herself from the demons eating her alive.

* * *

Back when she won the Games the president wasn't Snow. It was some other man and she had been forced to stand and meet the gaze of the very man who had created the Hunger Games, a man so twisted by hatred she thought he would kill her right there himself.

She had stood trembling before him, her plain face made-up and her outfit scratching her skin while he had loomed over her, holding his famous Drive Blade which was rumoured to have quelled one of the Capitol's great Houses before the Dark Days. She had waited for him to use it on her until she was as dead as the others in the arena but his gaze had simply slid away from her nondescript face to elsewhere in the room.

"Congratulations," he said coldly. Then he walked away, and she could feel the swish of his jacket like a whip of wind as he passed.

Back then before the term 'Career' was even coined it had been easier for the outer-District tributes to win, she remembered.

The tributes from One and Two had been formidable even then, remnants of their old regimes but there was bad blood between them, a history of hatred that caused them to clash whenever they met in the arena.

Only recently, with the new generation who had never experienced the old rivalry had they began to join forces against a greater enemy rather than fight.

* * *

"What's your opinion about guns in the arenas? They haven't been in the Games since the year _you_ won." The interviewer was right up in her face again, smiling so hard Ellie's face hurt just looking at her.

"Guns are… guns are… impersonal," she managed to get out.

In the very first Games nobody wanted to kill each other. So the Gamemakers remedied that.

Guns were an easy way out, you don't even have to get up close, just a pull of a trigger-don't even think about it- and bang! You didn't even have to get yourself dirty or see the blood splatter or-or-or even get up close to see the expression on their face and make the connection between their death and your murder. After all, it wasn't like you were pushing a weapon through their body right?

That year she had climbed up a tall tree and picked the other tributes off, one by one.

Later they took out guns because they gave the tributes too big of an advantage, they said. She had never thought she would live to see the day those weapons would make a reappearance in the arena, and never, ever imagined it would be a year they reaped a tribute from the Sticks who knew how to use them.

**Plautia Greeth, Capitol Interviewer**

While her crew was setting up in front of the Coopers' laboratory Plautia flipped a page and skimmed over their information on her files as she took a sip of her coffee.

_Pffffttt!_ She spat out the mouthful of coffee almost immediately.

_"_ Cressida!" she screeched.

"Yes ms. Greeth?" a harried-looking girl with crimped blonde hair meeting the tattoo down her neck came running with a dozen folders under her arm.

"This coffee is cold." Plautia made a face and pointed a long fingernail at the offending drink.

"I-I'm sorry m'aam I'll get you a new cup right away." The teenage girl set the pile of folders on a lab bench and picked up her purse.

"See to it it's piping hot this time or I won't sign your school's form, got that?" Plautia adjusted her cat's eye glasses and turned away with a click of her high heels.

"Yes ms. Greeth," she replied miserably.

"Plautia!" One of the cameramen gestured that they were ready. She picked up her notes and sat down with Dr. Professor Coopers. It seemed with this pair that the wife was the dominant one.

"I swear David, if you embarrass me in front of national television I'll-" she hissed at her husband before the cameras flickered on.

"Okay, let's get started. So your daughter's calculations for her thermonuclear bomb is riddled with errors, what do you think about that?" Plautia decided to start off with an uncomfortable question, her lips curling into a smirk as she imagined the audience enjoying watching the pair squirm.

Dr. Delilah Cooper's face flickered through surprise, anger, and fear before deciding on an expression of bored disdain. "What do you expect? She's scared, she's stressed, she's barely slept since the Game's started, it's too easy to slip up and get careless with a couple of derivatives and sign changes."

Ever chipper, wide-smiled (at least in front of the cameras) Plautia nodded.

"So what will the result be?"

"The explosion won't be nearly as big as she calculated area-wise. I've seen the danger zone that Caesar's marked out on screen and it's not a true representation of the estimated damage. In reality the bomb would only reach around 45% of the way to the perimeter at most," Dr. David Cooper answered calmly, leaning back in his chair, hands steepled with no mental breakdown in sight.

"Are you sure?"

Everyone from the cameramen to the makeup girls held their breath. The room so silent that she could hear a pin drop.

"Yes."

.

"Well that was boring," Plautia grumbled to Cressida when they were chugging along the bullet train on route to District 6. "No tears, no breakdowns, and I almost wanted to slit my throat when they began their lecture on nuclear physics." She pretended to gag herself with a finger.

"Mmm." Cressida gazed out the window noncommittally.

"Luckily the next family is Sly Delgado's, I'm sure this'll be good."

They drove into the gated community that was District Six's Victor's Village and was welcomed by Sylvester's gorgeous wife, dressed in all white and elegant pearls.

The victor's wife graciously welcomed the team into her home and offered them something cool to drink seeing as the weather had been so hot lately and surely they were tired from setting up all day?

Plautia and her team stepped into the elegant foyer, navy blue and ivory checkered tiles which complemented the rest of the decor, simply dripping with class and good taste and they settled Sabine's mother and brother in the living room on a plush cream sofa under a classic oil painting of a young girl on a swing.

"So, what was your reaction when you saw that Sabine was reaped?"

Conrad Delgado answered this one. "I was shocked for one, she only had six slips in the bowl while most other girls had many times more. What were the chances of that?" There was a slight accusatory tone in his voice.

"What my son was trying to say was," his mother glanced at the cameramen nervously "that we were very upset to lose Sabine, I mean, we haven't lost her yet but, you know how these things go," she said sadly, lowering her eyes.

"But you're hopeful that she can win aren't you?"

"Of course we are," Sabine's brother said with a determined jut of his chin. "Our father won, and Sabine can too. She's already got a huge advantage with a car and that ally of hers."

Plautia's eyes narrowed and a wicked smirk bloomed across her face. "That's true, but what do you think going's to happen when the alliance ends?"

The way their faces dropped told her audience everything they needed to know.

.

Their next stop was conveniently enough, Sabine's ally. Plautia flipped through her notes about Blight's family. Mother, father, three siblings, a brother-in-law that was apparently in jail at this time, she was going to have her hands full with this one.

They stepped onto a flat, dusty rural area. It was going to be hard lugging all the equipment up to District Seven's house without getting anything dirty, she realized. Plautia looked around for any significant landmarks but it was all mobile homes as far as they eye could see. A group of children wrestling in the mud stopped mid-tussle and toothless elderly men in overalls sitting on broken lawn chairs got up to gawk at them.

She made a note to take a chemical shower after the interviews. Her eyes flicked to the left where beefy women were squatting on their heels to shuck corn, then her eyes flicked to the right where sweaty men were swatting mosquitos and sipping beer from dented cans. They were all staring at her, a few were pointing too.

Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, she took a few steps towards the District Seven tribute's family trailer. She knew the mayor had alerted the family in advance that she was coming but so far no one had come outside to greet her. Just before she raised a gloved hand to knock on the door the most grating Southern drawl came blasting through the broken screen.

"BUT MA, AH'M SUPPOSA TA TAKE JAKEY TO THUH DAWKTUR'S FER HIS APPOYNMUHN TUDAY AHN LESTER'S IN JAIL!"

"AH'M TEW TARRED FER THIS ARGUMENT JESSIE ANN, YUH JES GONNER HAFTA SIT HEER AN' WAIT FER THOSE FAYNCY CAPITOL PEOPLE TA COME FER THE INTERVIEWS OR THERE'LL BE HEYALL TO PAY!"

"SO YEW PUT SOME DOSH-DARNED INTERVIEWS BEFORE THUH GEWD OF YORE OWN GRAYNDSUN? Y'ALL THA MOST HORRIBLE GRAYNDMUTHER IN-"

At this point, the door opened and she came face to face with a very tired-looking young woman with the most frazzled hair she had ever seen holding a squalling baby in her arms.

"Aw shucks, you're here," she seemed to slump, defeated.

Plautia sighed. She had a received a list of household members of each tribute in the top eight and normally the audience liked to see all of them present at the interview, but Blight just happened to have a large enough family that she would have plenty of material even if his sister wasn't present.

"Just go to the doctor's, I'll tell your mother it's alright."

"Why thank you ma'am!" she mimed tipping her hat to her and ran off down the dusty beaten path.

Plautia shook her head and turned to her main cameraman. "Please tell me you got that on tape. This is Redneck Country."

She frowned and held her chin in her hands as she tried to decide on the angle for District Seven's tribute this year. "Let's do something to make the show more... entertaining. We're going to make this guy's family look as trashy as possible."

**Milly Oakley, Blight's younger sister**

She watched as her father squinted in the sun and cocked his shotgun at the Capitol cameraman. "We don't take kindly to strangers 'round here," he drawled. Several of their neighbours tossed aside their beer cans and stepped up menacingly to back him up.

"Cut!" the Capitol director shouted. "We didn't get a good angle, let's try that again."

Blight's father slumped his shoulders and sighed.

"That's the fifth time they made pa pretend to almost shoot 'em," Milly commented, sitting on the stoop with her chin resting on her hands. She and her brother had declared a temporary truce with their older brother in the Games and were watching the strange insect-like cameramen train their cameras on various points around their home. She could see one aimed right at her and her brother, with their dog Dusty panting between them, his tail thumping rhythmically against the screen door.

Milly turned to her brother. "You think the Games are fake too? And if Blight pretends to die he really just comes back?"

Cody cuffed his sister lightly on the head. "Dummy, you heard the feller from Three, it's all real. Look at Timothy and Ellie, you think they came from some TV acting show where it was all fake? 'Member the time we saw the dead bodies come back from the train station?"

She shivered, Remembering the crestfallen faces and bawling family as the workers carried the plain pine boxes all the way to the tribute graveyard. "Oh yeah."

.

Later the family had sat together on their moth-eaten sofa in the living area for their interviews. Their mother was so distressed at how the Capitol crew had trashed the area she had spent hours cleaning and making presentable that she kept wringing her hands and tapping her foot agitatedly.

"I swear Hank, if y'all embarrass me in front of them cameras I'll-" she hissed at their father before the cameras flickered on.

"So your son's odds have more than tripled since the bloodbath despite not making a single kill yet. How do you feel about that?" the interviewer purred. Milly didn't like her, the way the woman's smile didn't seem to meet her eyes was indication enough that she didn't like them and was eager to get the hell out as fast as she could.

Blight's mother gulped and tried to calm her shaking hands in front of the cameras pointed straight at her face and Milly couldn't help but compare them to the barrels of guns about to go off. "Odd's don't mean nothin' cause it's win or die, all I care 'bout is gettin' my boy back."

"Of course you do, and once he comes back you can all move to one of the nice houses in Victor's Village and leave this dump," she gestured to their living area, "behind you."

"Wait, y'all think we want our son to win so we can live in one of those fancy houses?" their father's voice was incredulous.

"Well I'm not saying that but-"

Their parents visibly flushed. It was actually quite fascinating to see their faces go from paper white to tomato red in the span of three seconds.

"Y-y'all are unfeeling monsters, I'll tell you what! Y'all can't possibly be a mother, if y'all can't understand having your baby ripped from you, an' forced to watch him almost die every day!" Their mother was so angry that she was actually shaking while their father spat at the cameramen and reached for his gun for real.

"I think y'all better pack up and get the hell out of my house," he warned.

Milly drew in a breath, thinking that the Capitol people would get mad but the interview lady just signalled the cameraman to zoom into their father's face one last time before she started packing up her things.

**Selphie, District 7 Escort**

It was mayhem in the mentor's box as the remaining mentors frantically tried to come up with ways to tell their tributes that a bomb was going to go off within the limits of what they could send. The exception was the table where the mentors from Three and Five and their escorts sat. Their corner of the room remained cool and calm, watching the screens with only mild curiosity.

Claudius Templesmith was currently showing an aerial view of the arena map with pinpoints to mark tributes. There was a red shadow indicating the predicted area that the blast would completely decimate. Currently, every single tribute was inside the danger zone.

Selphie chewed her lip, what could she send to Blight to tell him he needed to get out of the city? She peeked over at the District Four table where mentors who had sent their tribute a bunch of hooks used to spear flounder fish, caught well away from any coasts in deeper water. The boy from Four frowned at the strange gift, but rowed deeper into the sea, away from the city.

Madeline from Twelve was sending her boy dead canary after dead canary to get her point across, that he was in a danger zone and needed get out.

Raven had frowned at the dead birds but quickly got the message and he began hustling outside of the city. It wasn't enough though, he were on foot and the safe area was well-beyond how far he could realistically reach with his current pace.

Despite having a tribute still in the Games the District 2 table was empty and had been ever since Nikolaos killed his own partner. All the mentors seemed to have abandoned him as an example to future tributes that they did not condone dishonour.

Even then the District 2 boy had been extremely lucky, first running into the boy from 12 who had allied with him, then receiving a rare Gamemaker-sponsored gift from the raven-mutt. But his luck appeared to run out in the present as he was too deep in the danger zone to get out in time.

"Sabine, get out of there," Sylvester muttered next to Selfie without taking his eyes off the tablet on his lap. Selfie watched him send his daughter another quart of gasoline.

She breathed a sigh of relief. How clever of Blight to ally himself with the girl from Six whose mentor was the charming and popular Sly Delgado.

The girl from Six was puzzled by the gift, the tank was freshly topped off but she thanked her father nevertheless. She didn't understand the significance because how could she possibly know about the bomb that would go off? Sylvester groaned in frustration and pounded at the table with his fist, forcing Ellie and Tim to wake up from their stupor.

"Is there anything we can give Blight to tell him he's in danger, or at least to go into the woods, anything District Seven specific?" she urged Ellie and Timothy.

Timothy shook the fog out of his head and frowned. "Sorry, can't think of anything. It should be fine though, they're heading as fast as they can outside of the city anyhow."

He was right, the two were speeding along the highway madly. At the rate they were going they might avoid the blast yet.

Selphie turned her attention to the girl from Five who had built the bomb, boasting the record of the deadliest tribute-manufactured weapon in the history of the Games.

She had reached her designated area well within the time limit and sat on the grassy hill waiting for six o'clock to come. From her spot on the hill the LED clock was barely a pinprick but the Gamemakers had helpfully amplified the clock on holo-screens every few miles.

5:30pm. The girl from Five yawned but didn't dare fall asleep. The minutes ticked by and Selphie could feel her palms sweating, and she wasn't even in the arena.

5:40pm. 5:50pm. 5:59pm.

The screen split into three panels to show Tally, Dexter, and Cabel poised for action.

Seconds ticked by like years but eventually the clocks flashed to 6:00pm and the three tributes detonated simultaneously.

Nothing happened after the click and Selphie half-wondered if something had gone wrong, but the prickling at the back of her neck and her anticipation only intensified.

The camera panned to where the bomb was set up in the centre of the arena where the lithium deuteride began hissing and steaming, then all she was aware of was a deafening roar as the buildings burst into smoke and flames, the blast engulfing several blocks of the city and spreading rapidly.

The last thing the cameras caught was Tally's panicked voice, "I think I may have made a slight miscal-" before all the televisions across Panem flickered off and went into a static fritz.

* * *

**A/N Fun facts: find out more about the pre-Panem and the man who created the Hunger Games in my other stories. The southern accent from Blight's mother and sister was something I was considering writing in for the first chapter but decided I was going overboard. If anybody has lived in the rural South and is knowledgeable about the accent, please tell me if I'm doing it right.**

**I know I said I'd written the whole story out beforehand but honestly the last 4 chapters need some serious editing. I'm not really feeling this story that much anymore so updates _might_ be slower than once a week. *ominous tone***

**Find out what happened to the tributes next chapter in Winging It!**

**Still in play:**

**Unknown**


	20. Chapter 20

  


Chapter 20 Winging It

**Marlin Rodriguez, District 4 Male**

From where he stood the explosion seemed to bloom like a hot-house flower in sweltering summer, a red-orange column hurtling towards to sky before spreading itself out and engulfing everything in its path until the artificial darkness was a haze of warm colour.

A searing wave of heat knocked him backwards and Marlin felt the boat rock against the roiling currents. He staggered back up to his feet and clutched the edge of the boat with his hands as he stared at the red mushroom cloud billowing inland.

_"Ah dios mio_ ," he muttered darkly.

**Bobby Jean "Blight" Oakley, District 7 Male**

A deafening roar and a whoosh of heat blasted them from behind so forcefully that the car jumped off the road and slammed back down, rocking back and forth. "What was that?" Blight asked in shock. Even without looking behind him a shiver of apprehension went down his back and he felt the reverberations right down to his bones.

"I don't know."

He forced himself to turn around gaped at the sight of the red and orange gas that filled the entire sky.

"Th-they exploded the city."

"Hmm?" Sabine raised her head and moaned. "Owww, that was too loud," she winced.

Blight covered her with his jacket, feet wobbling and head pounding. For a second be was afraid be was going to be sick.

He stopped the car and stumbled out to get some air and clear his head, taking deep breaths to calm himself until the throbbing in his head subsided. Suddenly he heard a whoosh over his head and a fluttering of ruffled feathers.

Blight looked up to see pigeons, their plump forms overhead perched on lampposts and rooftops and tree branches. They were strange looking birds, grey and plump, with large glassy eyes trained straight on him and Sabine.

He cocked his rifle and shot one of them straight through the eye but the bullet simply ricocheted off. He aimed elsewhere, the breast, wing, head, but to no avail, the birds had no weak spot.

"Let it go Blight," Sabine called. "They aren't hurting us or anything."

She was right, the birds were doing nothing but staring at them. He moved cautiously to the side, watching them but they merely cocked their heads at him curiously.

Strange, how often did the Games have mutts that didn't attack? He eyed them suspiciously, not trusting anything the Gamemakers sent. The muttations were probably going to be causing more trouble only later in the Games, he would bet money it.

The familiar anthem played, and in the sky the image projections of the tributes from Three, followed by the girl from Five flashed momentarily before fading away.

"They must have died during the explosion," Sabine murmured. "Other than us there's just three left, the boys from Two, Four, and Twelve."

"Yeah?"

"Come on, let's go, I think I'm ready to drive now," she said climbing into the driver's seat. Blight almost began to protest, but she simply held up a hand to stop him. "We don't have time to waste just get in car. " Something in her tone reminded him of his ma and he meekly opened the door to the passenger seat and reached for the seatbelt.

He was barely inside when Sabine zoomed off.

"Slow down!" he yelped.

"No way, we're making it this time. There's no other tributes and nothing in our way!"

Sabine slammed the pedal to the floor and Blight fell backwards. When he picked himself up and looked around he saw that there was no resistance from the arena at all. It was quiet, suspiciously so.

Sabine glanced into the rearview mirror. "Those pigeon mutts from before are following us."

It was true, they were flying behind them, a polite distance away, eyes still trained on them.

"Weird," Blight's brow furrowed.

Still, they weren't attacking them so he ignored the unsettling feeling in his gut. They had barely gone ten miles before they were accosted by giant plant mutts, purple this time with giant green mouths that snapped and licked their lips ravenously. Sabine screamed but got and didn't stop. Remembering the last time they had ran into plant mutts he aimed at the part on their stalk that the head was attached to.

"Bang!"

Just a single hit in their weak spot caused them to wither and shrivel up.

"Just focus on driving, I'll handle the rest," he called. Her hands shook, then tightened their grip on the steering wheel. Sabine gulped back her tearful sobs and nodded, then slammed on the gas.

Next up were large mottled-green lizard-mutts that ran on two feet.

"Omigosh what the heck is with this arena?" Sabine shrieked.

"Keep your eyes on the road, I'll take care of this," Blight barked and fires several rounds, scattering the lizard mutts as they were shot down. The air was filled with their high-pitched screeches and he shuddered, knowing that he would be hearing those screeches and seeing those mutts in his nightmares.

He reached for the next cannister of bullets, and felt nothing. "Uh oh."

"What?" Sabine asked.

"I'm out! Got no bullets left!"

Sabine chewed her lip. "Ok, we still have the pistol you gave me and that gun you picked up at the pharmacy, try to make it last okay?"

They weren't even close to the roads leading out of the city and feral cat mutts began appearing, yowling as they ran, legs just blurs. They caught up quickly and jumped, almost landing inside through the broken windows if Blight hadn't shot them through.

"I ain't got enough bullets to take 'em all out!" he yelped.

There were too many of them and Blight, try as he might the mutts swarmed them until his gun clicked empty when he pulled the trigger.

"This is it Sabine, I'm out! At the next wave of mutts, I ain't nothin' left!"

She tightened her hold on the steering wheel and sobbed. "That's it then? We're dead?"

Suddenly the mutts fell back and the Capitol anthem sounded. "Attention tributes," Claudius Templesmith declared, "we have a very special announcement for you all."

Sabine stopped the car with a screech and they sat stock-still, hearts pounding, ready to hear what horrors would await them.

**Raven Everdeen, District 12 Male**

"Whoa," Raven's eyes widened at the explosion behind him. He tried to run but his body was paralysed was fear. The shockwaves blew his dark hair back and his cloak waved in the wind. He could feel the heat on his face and his arms when he raised them to shield himself from the blast and block the debris that swept past him.

When it was over his knees trembled like jelly and it was all he could do to keep himself from collapsing.

_Breeee_

He looked up to see the sky fill with an assortment of pigeon mutts. They settled on the street lights and street signs and did nothing but watch him. Before he could even fathom what they were doing a low growl came from the shadows.

A pack of dog-mutts, just like the one he had ran into earlier in the arena came out from the bushes and garbage cans. Raven pulled back an arrow and shot the first mutt through the eye.

.

Two dozen arrows later the corpses of canines littered the streets like a battlefield. Broken arrows hung from their bodies still, a trickle of blood running down where their skin was punctured. Only when his quiver was empty and the mutts had stopped coming did Raven drop down to his knees in exhaustion. Through his tired haze he was vaguely aware of the Capitol anthem and Claudius Templesmith's voice.

**Nikolaos "Niko" Egret, District 2 Male**

He panted and swept a hank of dark hair out of his eyes. So many mutts, there were too many of them. Soon after the explosion cockatrice had plunged through the skies like hail, giving a heart-rendering squawk before their attack.

Niko managed to shoot them down while fighting off their pecking and clawing but even then the cockatrice had just came pouring out of the sky. Eventually he too ran out of ammunition and shook his gun in disbelief.

_Fuck!_

As if reading his mind the cockatrice gave one last cry and swooped down as a group, and he ducked and shielded himself with his arms. At the very last second they swerved upwards, missing him completely and simply flew away.

Niko stared in disbelief.

"Just what the hell is up with the games this year?" Niko muttered to himself

Suddenly, the anthem sounded and the voice of Claudius Templesmith rang out. He looked around instinctively, but the voice came from invisible speakers all around him.

"Attention tributes, we have a very special announcement for you all. As you can see, you have all run out of ammunition. But worry not, because a feast will be held tomorrow at noon held at the north-eastern corner of the arena, just follow the signs and you'll be fine. You are all invited and it is in your best interest to attend. That is all and may the odds be ever in your favour."

The gears in Niko's head began to turn rapidly. Guns give whoever has one too big of an advantage, it was basically whoever gets there first wins.

How could he get there before all the other tributes? He looked around his area, roads, roads and more roads.

Wait no, there was a gas station right there with a car parked neatly to the side. He stared at the sleek grey low-rider. Well, it was worth a shot.

To his surprise the car door was unlocked and to his greater surprise the keys were already in the ignition. Trying to remember what Marlin did he gave the key a turn and the engine roared to life.

After a few false starts Niko got the car moving and in no time was zipping down the road. In fact it was really easy, he had no idea what Marlin's problem was.

A sign up ahead read "FEAST, 100 MILES AHEAD TAKE HIGHWAY". He gave the wheel a sharp turn, narrowly avoiding a pole but clipping the wall so the the side mirror ripped off. Well okay maybe driving was actually harder than he thought.

"Hold on I'm coming, sis," he whispered as he sped down the highway.

**Sabine Delgado, District 6 Female**

"So what do we do?" Blight licked his lips. "We have no ammo left in case we run into anythin' else. Do we go to the feast? Do we play for real?"

"I-I don't know." She bit her lip and looked away. Giving up on escaping the arena meant having to play the Game and die, or kill other tributes and probably still die. At best she could hope to live, but that would mean Blight-who saved her life and was the best friend she ever had outside of her family- would have to die for her to win.

Suddenly, more than ever before she hated the Hunger Games, the despicable game that made them make horrible decisions. _This is how the Capitol punishes us,_ she realized, _all those years ago they created them to remind us of war._

Because despite having only known peace she had an eerily accurate understanding what war is. In that moment in time the pampered Victor's daughter became several people in history: the Mad President, her great grandfather, Blight's great grandfather and figures long dead who had came to the same conclusion. War is having no choice but the wrong one, and then being forced to take it.

Sabine shook her magnificent head stubbornly. "No. I don't want to play this game. We're getting out of here," she said, not even thinking of the cameras. "I'm probably the only tribute that can drive, we'll get to the feast before everybody else, grab what we need, and go."

Her brown eyes met his blue ones and she was struck by how clear and bright they were.

"Ok."

Her eyes flicked to the compass tied to the rearview mirror and reved the engine, she gave the wheel a jerk, entering the highway north-east. If she was driving fast before, she was breaking the meter now.

"There, 'Feast, fifty miles ahead'," said Blight pointing at a metal sign on the highway as they zoomed by. Green background, white block letters ten feet high, even a blind man could have seen it in the dark.

"I see it, how long do you think they planned the feast to be there from the beginning?" she wondered.

Blight tugged the brim of his cap over his eyes. "I dunno, they could have just tacked it on recently."

Sabine pressed the gas pedal and passed another sign, "Feast, forty-five miles ahead, take next exit."

"So how long until we get there?"

"We're going at a hundred miles per hour, and it's forty miles ahead. Do the math," she snapped irritably.

"Aw, I have to do math now?" he grumbled.

She was about to make a cutting remark when suddenly she thought of something else.

"We're close to the end. Feasts are when the Gamemakers try to gather tributes together for a final showdown."

"Yeah but you said we're the only ones with a car so we'll be long gone by the time anyone else gets there on foo-"

They both jumped at the thud and felt something hit the back of their car. Sabine glanced at the rearview mirror to see with horror another car being manned by the boy from Two.

_How?!_

The same icy fear as her Reaping washed down her back, making her mouth dry and her palms sweaty as she saw him gaining on them until they were neck in neck. The boy even gave her a sarcastic grin and a small wave.

_How?!_

She had a speedy Striker Z she had modified to be lighter and faster while he was in a Chrome Zephyr!

He rammed them from the side now and the side of her car screeched as it was pinned against the metal railing of the highway.

"Sabine, he doesn't even care about making it to the feast, he's just trying to make us crash and then kill us with his bare hands," Blight yelped.

"I know, I know!" She stomped on the gas and the Striker Z crept forward until it broke free from the other car's hold. She watched from the sids mirror as the other car clumsily righted itself and try to catch up.

The boy from Two began ramming against their bumper now, she cringed at the sound of the other car's headlights being shattered.

"Blight, how bad is it?" she said, her voice strangely calm.

He glanced behind them. "Bad. But he got off worse."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The boy from Two didn't have to worry that he was destroying his own vehicle in an attempt to get them to crash, the Career could basically end the Games right now if he could get his hands on her and Blight.

_But...a very big but.._.

It was also clearly evident from the clumsy maneuvering that the boy from Two had no idea how to drive. It was probably his first time behind the wheel, she realized. Sabine quickly changed lanes and slammed on the brakes, the other car whizzing past them, confused by her sudden stop.

He wasn't the only one, Blight looked like he was having a heart attack next to her. "Sabine, what in tarnation are you doing?"

Ignoring him, she put the car in reverse, slapped her hand around the headrest of the passenger seat, peered over her shoulder and began quickly driving in reverse.

The part of the highway they were on was too narrow to do a U-turn and she knew there was no chance in hell that the boy from Two would know how to do a three-point-turn.

"We're taking another exit, it'll be a longer road we can probably still get there before he does, especially when he's not exactly an expert at maneuvering through the highway," she replied.

"Are you sure? Cause if they get there first and we come strolling in even a second later we're gonna get shot down like deer in hunting season!"

"Well did you want to just crash and die back there?" she snapped.

"No but-"

"Then no back-seat driving."

Blight slunk lower in his seat. "I ain't in the back, I'm sittin' right next to you," he mumbled.

She sighed. "It's a figure of speech."

"S'alright. So you're completely sure we'll get there before they do?" Blight asked slowly.

She shook her head and bit her lip. "No. Yes. Maybe. I really don't know." But to be honest getting into a high speed car chase in the Hunger Games was the last thing she expected.

**Nikolaos "Niko" Egret, District 2 Male**

"Shit, lost them." Niko said coldly and raked his hair back with his hand, then quickly jerked the wheel back. The slight distraction was enough to send the car careening wildly to the left.

He drove for a while, and then the highway turned into a long bridge, not over an ocean but grey walls over lower roads that were completely abandoned. He passed a sign saying "Feast, ten miles ahead" and breezed past it, until he felt a tremor.

The pine-ornament dangling on the front mirror hopped up and down. "Uh oh, I got a bad feeling about this," Niko said darkly and tightened his grip on the wheel. There was a deafening blast ahead of the bridge, then a cloud of grey dust obscured his vision.

He drove through it, until it cleared and he saw a wide chasm ahead, a gaping hole in the centre of the grey bridge and broken girders through the cement only a few feet away.

Niko quickly slammed on the brakes before he reached the gap, but the car skidded forward, leaving black marks on the road, in panic, he rapidly yanked the steering wheel so that the car skidded horizontally, then came mercifully to a stop just before he reached the end of the overpass.

He stepped out cautiously, boots kicking up dust and surveyed the damage.

"They blew up the bridge." Niko stared at the chasm as the dust finally settled to the ground. He stared down at the roads several feet below and started laughing hysterically.

"They actually blew up the fucking bridge!"

Niko laughed until he doubled over, trying to catch his breath.

Niko hiccupped. "Can't believe they blew it up. One explosion's not enough for them?" He looked up to see the strange pigeon mutts, still watching him curiously. He gave them the finger.

_What the hell is with the Games this year?_

**A/N Sorry for the delay, I had some stress in my real life. The next chapter may be late too. If it appears that there's a continuity error I edited the last couple chapters.**

**Still in play:**

**Niko & Raven**

**Marlin**

**Blight & Sabine**


	21. Chapter 21

  


Chapter 21 Last Man Standing

**Bobby Jean "Blight" Oakley, District 7 Male**

It was still nighttime when they got to the feast, the sky was dark and they had to rely on the street lights to cast yellowish rings of light on the road which flashed by as they passed. "Feast, up ahead," Sabine noted and slowed down. She shut off her headlights and crept slowly. They came to a secluded clearing otherwise surrounded by dark leafy trees, a small park with a picture-perfect park bench leaning against the wrought metal fence that bordered the greenery. They could even hear the gentle lapping of the waves came from the shore.

"Get low Blight, you don't know where they're hiding."

He shuddered and clutched his stomach as if he felt sick. Call it an omen but he had a bad feeling about the events that were about to transpire. With one hand clutching the side of the window he risked a peep out to see the towering stacks of the boxes of bullets stacked neatly as Claudius Templesmith had promised.

"Which ones do you need?" she whispered.

"The ones labeled 0.22 long rifle," he whispered back, "they're in beige boxes with a green label running across the top with white letters."

They drove at a crawl pace, searching for the boxes he described.

"Ok, I see them." She stalled the car next to the pile and looked around cautiously, wondering if it was a trap and they were going to be ambushed any time.

They waited a while, listening for the crunch of footsteps and the crack of gunshots but there was nothing but the quiet chirping of a few crickets.

Blight hurriedly opened the door, reached a hand out and grabbed a few boxes. Then he slammed the door shut again, breathing heavily from the exhilaration.

He opened his gun and jammed the bullets in and gave it a click. There. Locked and loaded.

"If anyone was here they would be shooting at us before we even loaded up again, but maybe they're just trying to make us get our guard down?" Sabine suggested.

"I dunno, only one way to find out." And with that, Blight yanked open the door, strode out and shot a few rounds in every direction. Sabine gave a shriek and ducked but he ignored her.

He was only greeted with silence. With only the courage of a lion or the utter stupidity of a fool, he sifted through the boxes until he found the ones labeled 'Astra 400'.

"Here," he re-loaded her gun for her and handed it to his trembling ally. "We might actually be the first ones to arrive, now let's get the hell out."

She nodded tersely when suddenly, a rustle in the trees made them both freeze.

"What was that?" she whispered.

"I dunno, but if it's another tribute they'd probably just arrived." They waited for a tribute to burst through the bushes but nothing appeared.

"Sabine stay here, I'll take care of it," he muttered before stalking off. She tried to protest but he ignored her, heart-pounding as he was tired of knowing there were still three tributes out there after his blood and if only he could take one out would mean one less tribute to worry about.

Blight ran into the bushes, heart racing with adrenaline. The branches and shrubs scratched at his arms and face but he barely felt them. How many tributes were left now? Three others. Also, it was a feast meaning the Gamemakers wanted the Game to end, and soon. With every tribute armed with a gun and bullets galore at the feast, it was anybody's game.

Unable to help himself, he thought about Sabine, the only girl left. It would be easy, even for her to just shoot them all down and go home herself. He shook his head and slapped himself in both cheeks, immediately feeling guilty for even thinking of her that way. She was the one who was so adamant about escaping the arena, and she just didn't have the killer instinct in her-he trusted his gut feeling about that.

Seeing nothing that could have been a tribute, Blight stumbled through the thickets on his way back. The grit and stone of the pathway crunched under his feet but he only hurried faster, unwilling to leave his ally defenseless for too long.

When he burst out the clearing the he first thing he saw was Sabine, braced against the back of the car and in the clear light of the shining moon, he saw the tears streaking down her face.

"Don't come any closer, I'll shoot," she sobbed, holding her pistol in both hands.

"Sabine, what?" he gasped in shock. His stomach roiled in protest and he could feel the sour taste of acid in his mouth.

Her eyes popped open. "Blight!" and she pulled the trigger. The shot went wide, way over his shoulder. It was enough for him, and without thinking, he shot her straight through the chest.

Her body slumped back and slid down the car, her mouth open in surprise, red blooming over her chest. "Be-behind you," she stammered weakly.

And then the cannon went off.

Before what happened had a chance to sink in, the sound of footsteps and a chilly voice behind him whispered, "Was it me she was aiming for?"

Blight whirled around to see a boy with dark hair and a deadly, steely look in his eyes approach, weapon in hand.

He looked up. A million thoughts whirled through his head, still reeling over having to kill Sabine before it settled on one. _The boy in front of him was going to kill him._

For a moment he was frozen, staring at his opponent. His eyes roamed from his black hair, grim jaw to the weapon in his hand.

"What's with that look, missed me, _hombre?"_

It was the boy from Four, he thought numbly.

Marlin laughed and lunged, stabbing his fishing spear in Blight's general direction.

He jumped out of the way and fired two shots right into his chest. The other boy recoiled and stumbled back, but otherwise stayed on his feet and glared at him.

Blight's eyes widened and he nearly dropped his gun in surprise. He took a step back. _What kinda goddamed witchery is this?_

The other boy, grinning manically darted around to the side and hurled another spear at him but Blight ducked, and high on adrenaline, his body began to move instinctively in self-preservation mode. He did a barrel roll and unleased a spray of bullets in the other boy's direction, hitting his arms, legs, torso, and feet but he might as well been spitting watermelon seeds for all it did.

"Stop wasting your time _hombre,"_ the boy laughed and spread his arms open wide in a 'come at me' gesture. "In this arena my body is untouchable." The way his voice rose and fell and his pupils dilated until his eyes were almost completely black alerted Blight to the fact he wasn't completely there.

He licked his lips nervously. Why wasn't his attack working?

Blight backed away nervously, afraid of this seemingly invincible enemy.

The boy, smiling in a deranged manner sauntered slowly towards Sabine's body and pried her gun from her lifeless fingers.

Not wanting to wait for him to use it, Blight turned and ran faster than he had ever run in his life. It was pure instinct, he couldn't even feel his legs or his lungs, he was so numb it began to feel like a dream, a very bad dream. Slowly at first, he became aware of a salty taste in his mouth and realized that he must have been crying. He closed his eyes and saw Sabine's, staring at him accusingly and unblinkingly.

Blight let out a scream as he ran. Where, he didn't know, he just had to get as far away from there as possible. He cried, tears falling down his face, body cold and shivering. He had just killed an ally he should have had more trust in.

Marlin didn't seem to bother chasing after him, maybe he wanted to wait for the other tributes to arrive, he didn't know. Blight tripped over something and went sprawling.

Instead of getting up he wrapped his arms around his shoulders and sobbed, wanting more than anything for his ma to hold him and tell him he was alright.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go, he and Sabine were supposed to make it out of the arena and find one of the out-District countries, or even if they had to play it should have been another tribute killing her while he held her hand and comforted her in her last moments.

Never, ever, was it supposed to be like this, him killing her while her last words were only to try and help him. He rocked on the ground crying, just like the victor from last year until his tears ran out and he couldn't catch his breath.

He looked off into the distance and saw the metal claw come down, taking Sabine's limp body.

No. This was all wrong. He took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to block his mind from it. A cold voice whispered to him that he could win. Focus on the Games, he had already killed another tribute, why couldn't he do it again? It dawned on him thar he could actually do it now, he could actually get out alive by being the victor. He started thinking like a strategist, what would the best move be?

Get to high ground.

He turned his head to the distance and noticed tall structures. With a sad furrow between his eyes he got up and staggered towards them.

**Nikolaos "Niko" Egret, District 2 Male**

Almost there, he could see the stacks of boxes like pyramids illuminated by the streetlights coming closer into view, and then the girl from Six and boy from Seven's car too, doors wide open and empty. Before he could puzzle out where they were hiding a sharp crack and thud caused him to turn his head. He almost let go of the steering wheel in shock.

Marlin gave a deranged sort of laugh and pulled his spear out the window, the cracks spread like a spidar's web from the puncture and he awkwardly knelt on the hood to draw his spear back for another attack.

Niko spun the wheel from side to side and slammed on the brakes in an attempt to shake him off but it was no use. With the windshield completely shattered Marlin crawled in, a queer smile on his face. Niko had seen tributes like this before in previous Games, tributes who have let the Games get into their minds just snapped and gone feral. There was no reasoning with him.

Niko yanked open the door and tried to scramble away just as Marlin's hand grabbed his collar and tumbled out of the car with him. Through the corner of his eye he could see the car driving itself straight over the harbour and into the water where it disappeared with a splash.

_Well that's that_ , he thought deliriously as Marlin overpowered him easily and felt his death grip around his collar pulling him to his feet. Niko's hands desperately tried to push away Marlin's fingers clenched around his throat but Marlin's rage had given strength and he was too weak.

" _Bastardo!_ You don't know how long I've been waiting for this moment to make you pay," he snarled.

"I'm not going to just kill you, death is too good for scum like you I'm going to make you suffer until you beg me to kill you!" His grip tightened around Niko's neck.

Niko gasped, his head feeling light and black spots appearing in front of his eyes. He could barely hear Marlin but at the rate he was going Marlin was going to be disappointed if he wanted to play with his kill.

Suddenly Marlin's eyes widened in surprise and Niko felt the grip around his neck slacken. A gurgling noise came from Marlin's mouth as he fell backwards and Niko hit the floor with a thump. He was dimly aware of the sound of a cannon going off somewhere.

He coughed and took a full minute to gulp air rapidly into his lungs. When the haze lifted and his vision stopped swimming he turned to Marlin's body and noticed an arrow sticking out of what was left of his back. There was a sunken depression of exposed flesh and bone, burn marks around the border where skin was barely attached.

_What the-_

"They had explosive arrows at the feast."

He looked up to see Raven, bow drawn and staring at him expectantly.

"What are you waiting for? I'm right here." He knew Raven couldn't shoot him.

As expected Raven lowered his bow hesitantly.

"I still need you. To help me with the boy from Seven."

Niko got to his feet shakily. "What, the redneck?"

"Yeah. Are you going to help me or what?"

Niko paused and gave him a lopsided grin. Once again he felt a surge of gratitude to the boy he saved his life for the second time in the arena. "Sure."

**Raven Everdeen, District 12 Male**

The still of the air was broken by the crunching of grass. A hand broke through the bushes and two dark-haired boys stepped out and into the clearing. Boxes and boxes of metal shells and bullets, Raven watched Niko sort through them until he found what he needed.

His eyes swept the area, hardened heart coldly noting the bloodstains on the ground and across the side of the car. He shuddered and turned his head away. He walked to the other side of the towering stacks and warily checked his surroundings. Nothing except for those strange pigeons watching politely for as far as the eye can see. He bent down at the ground, and saw discernible footprints, leading away from the feast and followed it with his eyes to shadowy tall structures off in the distance.

"He's probably over there." Niko pointed with his chin. "Getting to high ground so he has the aerial advantage would be the best thing to do."

They both set off in a brisk walk through the dewy grass, no point putting off the inevitable.

The first gunshot came when he was several feet away from the tall metal rods structures. Raven quickly jumped back and squinted to see the shooter step out, a lanky, fair-haired boy. The boy from Seven. The boy eyed him with grim contempt and pulled the brim of his hat backwards.

Raven skittered back behind the neighbouring tower. As long as the boy was on higher ground, he would have the aerial advantage. He noticed a ladder on the shielded side and began climbing gestured to Niko. He reached the metal platform, the perimeter of some swollen drum with a cone roof. He slid on his belly and crawled forward until he was facing the boy from Seven. The sound of metallic footsteps, padding up from behind, the rustle of clothing and the thud of a body next to him told him that Niko wasn't far behind. His father had told him the old lore that to be sure your shot kills a man, you have to be able to see the white of his eyes.

Although it was dark right now, they were bathed by the light of the moon and Raven could make out the colour of his shirt, the glint of the rifle in his hands, and wide in terror, the whites of his eyes.

Clenching his jaw, he nocked an arrow in his bow and whirled himself to his feet, releasing his shot and dropping back down on his stomach. He heard a small explosion and risked a peek at the damage in front of him. A charred black circle was left behind on the swollen drum on his side.

_Pik pik pik_

He ducked and heard several bullets land over his head, imbedding themselves on the metal wall behind him.

"Ok, on the count of three we run to opposite sides and start shooting together. He doesn't know we're both up here so the confusion will give us a few extra seconds," Niko hissed.

Raven nodded.

_Three!_

The two boys jumped to their feet and ran to opposite directions, stopped, and fired straight at Blight.

He ducked out of sight, both Raven's exploding arrows and Niko's artillery hitting the wall where he should have been. The combined attack was enough to puncture the metallic drum, sending a steady stream of water gushing out.

Suddenly, a hacking and soaked Blight got back on his feet and continued his relentless assault. He was good, really good, Raven realized. Even two against one he was holding his own and he quickly realized that even with Capitol-enhanced explosive arrows, he had brought the proverbial sword to a gunfight.

Raven licked his lips and drew three arrows from his quiver, his fingers shaking when he realized that if anybody won, it wouldn't be him.

He heard more gunshots, but realized they came from his own tower, it was Niko shooting rapid-fire. Raven got up hastily to provide support, but an errant bullet his way caused him to swerve to the side to avoid it.

**A/N**

**Still in play:**

**Niko**

**Blight**

**Raven**


	22. Chapter 22

  


Chapter 22 What Comes After

**Nikolaos "Niko" Egret, District 2 Male**

He kept alternating between firing and ducking, and reloading while he shot. He knew the crazy redneck wouldn't be able to so the same and would run out eventually. He felt his opponent's shots graze his shoulder, his arms, ruffle his hair but ignored it.

A hail of bullets rained over his head and the drum behind him burst, soaking him through. He coughed and sputtered.

A sharp gasp came from next to him and he saw Raven take a bullet right through his shoulder.

Unconsciously, he staggered to his feet and raised almost slipped on the wet floor. He saw the panic on Raven's face, but not the bullets coming right at him. Raven lunged forward and shielded Niko's body with his own.

The sound of bullets embedding themselves all over his body dully resonated.

The two boys slumped down to the ground as bullets rained above them.

"Robin, I-" Raven coughed and blood spattered out, leaking out the corner of his mouth.

It's punctured his lungs, he's not going to make it, Niko thought frantically as his hands quickly palpated over his body.

"Robin? Is that you're brother's name?"

"I-I want you to live." He finished quietly, breath ragged, his eyelids drooping.

Niko felt his pulse, weak and thready slow down.

"I will Raven, I'll live! And when I win I'll find your brother and I'll look after him for you, I promise!"

An almost smile twitched on his lips and his cannon sounded.

Just then, an almighty creak came from the tower and he and Raven's body tilted to the right. Almost dreading what he already knew Niko craned his head and looked upwards.

**Bobby Jean "Blight" Oakley, District 7 Male**

_Boom!_

Only one more to go.

He took advantage of the small lull to fire not at his opponents, but down at one of the supports that held up their tower. He was aware of the water sloshing at his feet and leaking over his head but ignored it.

_Click._

Damn! He needed to reload. He ducked, and in record time reloaded his rifle. He heard the sound of bullets coming below him, looks like the boy from Two wised up on his plan. He felt the tower tipping over and quickly stood up to fire a few last shots at his opponents tower. It did the trick and the left support snapped, causing the other tower to lean to the side.

Blight came precariously close to falling off the edge and he realized he was going to be crushed if he didn't get off soon. He clumsily grappled down the stairs with one hand, the other on his gun.

_Ping ping_

He looked over to see the boy from Two doing the same, opening fire at him as he slid down the railing of the ladder.

_Clack Clack Clack_

Blight returned fire.

They ended up on the ground, scrambling to their feet and shooting each other repeatedly, weaving back and forth to avoid each others bullets.

Finally, they stopped at the same time, breathing heavily and facing each other, guns pointed right at each other.

They stayed like that for a while, like cowboys in a wild west movie. Blight was empty, he knew that much, and realized the boy from Two was as well. They were both bluffing, daring each other to admit they were empty first.

He ran his eyes down his opponent's body, comparing injuries. He noticed several bloody holes in his clothing where his bullets had grazed his calves, thighs, sides, and arms.

He himself felt fine, though maybe he was seriously injured as well but just couldn't feel it because of the adrenaline.

He made the first move, making a mad dash behind him. The boy from Two followed in hot pursuit.

"Come back and fight, you coward!" he screamed.

Blight ignored him and ran, judging by how he was in the lead, he supposed he had hurt the other boy more than he hard hurt him.

That was good, be got back to the area where the feast was held, the many cannisters of bullets still out there.

The other boy must have wised up on his plan because he gave a burst of speed. They forked in opposite directions to their respective cartridges.

The last few seconds of the games flashed like a photo finish win.

3 seconds from final kill, Blight grabs his box.

2 seconds from final kill, Niko opens his box.

4 seconds from final kill, Blight reloads.

3 seconds from final kill, Niko reloads

2 seconds from final kill, Blight shoots.

2 seconds from final kill, Niko shoots.

1 second from final kill, the bullet meets Blight's head

1 second from final kill, the bullet meets Niko's chest

Blight's Capitol Expo hat flew off, bullet neatly imbedded on the metal badge on the crown, flying off Blight's head.

Niko staggered back, clutching his chest and the red blossoming over his shirt.

"Sh-shit," he gasped. "Sis, I-"

The gun slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor as Blight's hat gently floated down.

The final cannon sounded. Then the trumpets.

"Congratulations, Blight Oakley, winner of the forty-six annual Hunger Games!"

The roar of the live Capitol audience played over loudspeaker.

It was over. It was finally over. Blight looked at the dead body in front of him didn't feel anything like celebrating. Still, a hovercraft materialized overhead and the ladder dropped.

He numbly raised his hand and grabbed the rung, the electric current paralysing him and pulling him upwards.

**Tallulah "Tally" Cooper, District 5 Female**

One minute she was stumbling through the trees, weak and woozy, blood trickling down her arm where she cut off her tracker, and the next moment, a metal claw had come crashing down and lifting her body upwards into a hovercraft. She had resisted the Capitol attendants who had captured her and had felt another prick in her arm and let the exhaustion take over and blackness engulf her vision.

She swam back into consciousness, on a padded table, clutching her pounding head. She heaved herself off the bed and staggered to her feet. She looked around and was immediately greeted by the sight of her friends, unconscious and hooked up to a dozen machines.

In her delirious state she knew that the Capitol was only keeping them alive to kill them painfully in a public spectacle as a means of punishment and she needed to kill them peacefully.

She staggered towards them, determine to rip out their tubes before the Capitol could choose the agonizing means of their deaths.

She had barely taken two wobbly steps when she felt a hand grab her wrist and force her into a chair facing her captor.

She blinked blearily. "Who are you?" she slurred.

The young woman, who appeared only a few years older than she was stood erect, feet apart and hands behind her back.

"My name is Alma Coin. Don't worry about your friends, they're in safe hands and are expected to make a full recovery."

She stared at the stern-looking woman warily. "And then what will you do to us? How will you punish us for ruining your Games?" she glared.

The woman shook her head sternly. "You seem to be mistaken. We aren't from the Capitol, we're from District Thirteen and we're on your side."

Tally blinked tiredly, a million thoughts racing through her head but the first one was the overwhelming exhaustion. "Since when were there sides?"

**Bobby Jean "Blight" Oakley, District 7 Victor**

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the entire ceiling glowing with a soft yellow light. He blinked groggily and heaved himself up slightly by his elbows, propped to his side to examine his whereabouts. His bedsheets rustled, almost blindingly white and sterile.

He was in a room containing just his bed, no doors or windows were visible. The air smelled of something sharp and antiseptic. His arm had several tubes that extended into the wall behind him.

He tried to sit up farther but a wide restraining band around his waist kept him from rising more than a few inches. The physical confinement made him panic and he was trying to pull himself and wriggle his hips through the band when a portion of the wall slid open and a Capitol boy his age stepped in carrying a tray.

He set the tray across his thighs and pressed something that raised him to a sitting position. He adjusted his pillows. Then he winked and slid a finger to his lips slyly, then turned on a radio on the tray.

The voice of President Snow boomed around the room.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, LETTING THE TRIBUTES BLOW UP THE ARENA AND HALF THE CAMERAS?"

Then Camilla Silver's nervous voice, small and mouse-like in comparison. "I didn't know the explosion would cause the cameras to malfunction. It wasn't that big a deal, the back-up pigeon cameras were on the tributes in less than a minute." So that explained the pigeon mutts with the strange eyes.

"DID YOU SEE THE RESULTS, WOMAN?"

There was a pause as they probably watched some of the recap.

"Oh, well, um..."

"AND HOW COULD YOU LET THE TRIBUTES FROM THREE AND FIVE ESCAPE?" he roared.

Blight sat up at this part. Escape? They were still alive? He sleepily remembered his last conversation with his brother- in-law, it was possible to escape the arena all along?

"Should we, ah, kill their families to set an example?" she asked meekly.

There was an exasperated sigh. "What example? As far as anybody knows they died in the blast and their bodies were vaporized. They were just lucky they were deemed valuable enough to rescue before we could capture them."

A ringing phone broke the silence.

His voice was soft and deadly, like a snake. "Just get out of my sight. I'll deal with you later."

The boy turned off the radio at that point.

"Why d'hell did you show me that?" a stunned Blight asked.

"So you know. The Capitol isn't all as it seems. There is hope out there, people willing to help. You won't tell, would you?"

"Don't they have cameras and microphones monitoring the room?"

"Yeah, but let's just say who's on security today is on our side."

And with another wink, he slipped a spoon into his hand, he felt the pressure of conspiratorial partnership.

Our side? Since when were there sides?

The rest seemed to be a blur, he was so preoccupied with the strange boy's words that he barely noticed his stylist and prep team fawning over him, ecstatic about their boost in status for having prepped a Victor.

Our side.. People willing to help... escape... what could they mean?

The words bounced around in his head until he was sitting down and reliving the nightmares of his own Games. Every year the editors carefully put together a three hour recap that tells a story about the Victor. This year though, it seemed like footage thrown haphazardly in a disorganized manner.

The first hour or so started out normally, focused on the pre-arena events, a flurry of names, chariots, scores, faces, and comments flew by. There was no particular focus on him despite being the Victor during the pre-Games, after all there was nothing special or interesting was from his lacklustre performance.

Then they entered the arena. He could see the bloodbath in stunning detail, focusing on the Careers and their organized, methodical mowing down of tributes. There was some sort of up-beat soundtrack playing in the background which made it a hundred times worse. Once again, he wasn't interesting as all he did was grab a backpack and run.

Then the cameras alternated between various tributes, the girl from Eight lighting a match in the dark, the boy from Twelve constructing his bow, Sabine unscrewing the engine of a car. Next to them, his discovery of his rifle and battling the hurricane didn't stand out.

He sat in rapt fascination, getting to see what the other tributes were up to when he couldn't that time. He watched as the boy from Three hacked the Capitol's surveillance system, evident that the Gamemakers allowed him to. It turned out the boy from Two was the one who killed four of his allies and intended to eliminate the boy from Four as well, if he hadn't drove right into the water and swam away.

He watched his alliance with Sabine, the alliance between the boys from Two and Twelve who together killed the girl from Eight who had killed the boy from Nine. It all seemed so distant.

The tributes from Three and Five made plans to build a nuclear bomb while he and Sabine had battled mutts.

They set it off, but there appeared to be a problem.

And it was there that it began going wrong. Where the footage was crisp and had the best angles, the film was blurry at best and incredibly shaky. The sound quality was poor as well. A few members in the live audience began booing. If looked like a very poor attempt at a low budget movie.

Caesar Flickerman stopped the tape right there. "I'm sorry ladies and gentlemen, but due to technical difficulties the highlights of the Forty-six Games will not be made available after this viewing. I'm sorry about the inconvenience but please, give a warm round of applause for our victor, Blight!"

The applause was bored, and perfunctory at best.

"Where is Camilla?" Someone from the crowd shouted. "She promised us a Game we would never forget, but we can't even own a copy?"

The restless crowd roiled like a stormy sea. "Drag her out here!"

"Make her apologize!"

"Set the mutts on her!"

"Make her suffer!"

Blight stared at them in numb horror. If they could turn on their own like that, no wonder the Capitolites had no qualms about seeing twenty-three people die horrible deaths every year. They were the ones who weren't human.

He suddenly realized the implications of these Games, they were meant to entertain, serve as a distraction, but with such shoddy media presentation, he wouldn't be surprised if Capitol viewers had actually lost interest.

The thoughts occupied his mind all through the rest of his time in the Capitol, through the victory banquet where he didn't eat a thing, through the interview where Caesar basically answers his own questions briskly, as if he couldn't wait to get rid of him while he stared at him blankly, nodding along and answering where he could.

Finally, he was allowed to go home.

.

"Oh tsk tsk," Selphie sighed in the train as she flipped through the newspaper _._ _SHAMED HEAD GAMEMAKER NOT FOUND,_ the headlines screamed. "It appears Camilla's gone missing. Peacekeepers came for her arrest but there wasn't a trace. Probably gone into hiding, poor dear."

He looked out the window glumly. He couldn't care less about some Head Gamemaker but was instead thinking about things that he never thought about before. People seemed to skirt around the events of his Games, because the footage was bad was that it?

But there was a second implication. The tributes from Three and Five outsmarted the Capitol. If anybody knew they had actually managed to escape then it would prove the Capitol wasn't as all powerful and in control as they said they were. Suddenly, he got it. Lester back home had tried to tell him, it was possible to escape the arena, but if that was correct, what else would be, what else did he know but Blight had ignored?

Was he... on his side the way the strange boy from before was?

.

"Lester," he said one day. "let's talk." Although most of Blight's family had moved willingly with him into Victor's Village Lester had refused and forced his sister and nephew to stay in his family's old trailer in the Sticks, stating that he didn't want 'the man' to be reading his mind and stealing his ideas. He had then constructed a tin foil helmet that he wore sometimes until even Jessie Ann told him he looked like a fool and made him take it off. Blight figured it was probably better that way, to distance their relation with the victor as obviously Jakey might have a higher chance of being reaped.

"Sure Blight," he gave him his usual simple-minded grin. "what do you want to talk about."

"It's kind of... a secret."

He nodded sagely. "I know a place."

They walked together and he showed Blight a river under a rushing waterfall.

"Capitol bugs can't because of the water, plus it muffles any noise we make," he said matter-of-factly.

Blight looked him in the eyes. If was the same eyes of the town idiot, same voice and words too, but he began to doubt his previous suspicions.

"Tell me what's going on."

Lester gave him a rough half-smirk. "Why do you need to know?"

Blight grabbed his collar in anger. "I went through hell, know that three tributes escaped the arena. What else is true?"

Lester calmly detached his hands from his collar. "Not smart for you to know more than you know, hell, I barely know anything as it is. But I can tell you this, have hope because life won't always be like this. We're planning. The time to strike isn't now, but when it is, I'll tell you."

"Against the Capitol right?"

"Yeah, you just got to believe you can do it."

**A/N If you noticed the drop in quality of the last few chapters it's because I'm exhausted and will edit later.**


	23. Chapter 23

  


Chapter 23 Ending Credits

**Robin Everdeen, District 12 Male**

He lay eagle-spread on the ground in the meadow, his cheek turned towards the fence but didn't feel like going. Not when it reminded him of everyone he lost.

His first his memories of the meadow were of him, his brother and father. And then they became just his brother. When he closed his eyes he could still see them, but they quickly faded into just a lone figure of himself slipping under the loose wire.

A ruffle of feathers on the other side caught his attention, he turned his head to see a crowd of mockingjays sitting on a tree branch. There was something Raven once said about them, something important and Robin wracked his brains trying to remember what it was.

_They're a symbol of the strength of the will to live._

He pursed his lips and whistled a few notes. The birds whistled them back. Robin smiled and got up.

Maybe he _would_ go into the forest today.

**Sylvester "Sly" Delgado, District 6 Victor**

Once again two more tributes from District Six travelled home with him in pine boxes, bumping and rattling with every jolt. He should be used to feeling like a failure but this year was personal, because one of the fathers he failed was himself.

Once he had got home he locked himself in his study, drinking scotch until he passed out. Nobody knocked on his door.

The Victory Tour came six months after the Games, as it always did. He thought the Capitol would cancel them given the events that had happened in this one, but maybe they decided the absence would draw more attention than if they just carried on with the tradition.

He watched the boy from Seven mount the stage, stutter out the speech penned by his escort, then pause and put down his note cards. It was good form for a victor to add a personal line or two about any special allies they had in the arena and Sylvester was wondering what this boy could say about his innocent daughter who had helped him so much, who he killed in cold blood.

"When I first started out... I thought I could kill Sabine. But when it came down to it and it was right in the moment, I couldn't. But then at the end, when I thought she was tryna kill me, I killed her first. What changed? I guess it's cause I was just selfish. Only one person wins, and I wanted it to be me." Blight looked him dead in the eye and Sylvester remembered his own moment of victory and with a pang, his hatred for the boy came crashing down because he realized that the universe was simply getting even.

But the conflicting feelings of guilt and forgiveness and emptiness pulled at his mind in all directions until he just didn't want to think about them anymore. Tired Sylvester Delgado went home and drank some more scotch until his stomach felt like it was on fire and his wife had to call the paramedics and of course the paparazzi had to make an appearance buzzing around like flies to see the once-handsome victor fall from grace into just some drunk.

**Isaac "Ike" Paylor, District 8 Factory Worker**

He spread the newspapers across the cracked floors and frowned. Stories about where the Head Gamemaker disappeared to and the disappointing Games were on every feature, page after page it was all Games news where it had once been his face. The sound of a screen door being opened alerted him to someone entering.

"Ike?" His visitor removed her heavy coat and shades.

"Hey Cressida." He tried to smile but failed miserably.

"I'm sorry. We didn't win. I wanted to help you so badly but-"

"It's too late." His voice had no bitterness, just a defeated weariness of a boy who had come close but ultimately failed. During the events of the Games and the confusion afterwards he had been shunted aside and eventually his Capitol half-sister turned eighteen and the news story was about her party and inauguration as the next head of the Special Operations Police.

If people were talking about him they were clicking their tongues pitifully at the lying District boy with stars in his eyes. His golden opportunity had came and flew by, waving at him and flipping him off mockingly.

Cressida padded over to the stove and put on the kettle. She knew he would hate it she but slipped a few bills into the cupboard for him to find later.

Ike gathered up the papers and crumpled them up in his hands. "Everyone was counting on me Cressida, you should have seen it. They were rioting, attacking the Peacekeepers, _they were chanting my name."_

"We-we could come up with another plan," she said hesitantly.

He looked up from his hands. "But when will we get another chance? I had the perfect opportunity, my face, my claim, the publicity, it might never happen again."

Her lips tightened as the kettle began to whistle. She poured two cups of mint tea and handed one to Ike. "We'll find someone. It might not be right away but someone, something will turn up. We just need to wait."

Ike blew on his cup gently. "What do I do until then?"

She shrugged and they both turned to watch the smoggy sunset of District Eight sitting down on the floor. "Live. I'll contact you with more when I can."

Against the darkening sky he tipped his face upwards and stared gloomily into the distance. "Yeah. I was hoping I would be in the Capitol as the fancy head of the Special Ops before... You know..."

She dusted off her pants and got up to leave. "Well it may be a while before we can make another move."

They shook hands solemnly, as partners and as friends.

**Bobby Jean "Blight"** **Oakley, District 7 Victor**

Blight sat, on his rocking chair rocking back and forth just watching the world go by. And he thought. About the Games. About escaping from the arena. About the countries still out there. And about Sabine. The guilt still crushed him.

He was mostly left alone by Snow and the Capitol. The president didn't want to be reminded of his Games, and any appearance of a victor was accompanied by shots of their glory.

So he faded away into obscurity.

He played mentor when he had to, left as soon as he could, and generally was a recluse and rarely ventured out of his home or spoke with anybody.

He was out sitting outside on his rocking chair the day he saw the Peacekeepers come for Johanna's family.

They came as a group of six, filing neatly in line, full armour and guns at the ready.

Couldn't be for anything good.

He raised his rifle at them and shot the ground in front of them before they could continue. "The hell you think you're doin'?"

The leader raised his machine gun against him. "Just following the president's orders. Why, do you have a problem with that? Because no one would even miss you, victor of a Games no one barely knows about."

With a click Blight landed a shot land right into his chest. The Peacekeeper's bullet-proof uniform absorbed the bullet easily. He laughed. "See? What can your pathetic bullets possibly do against the superiority of the Capitol? You aren't even able to land a scratch on us."

Blight narrowed his eyes and fingered his gun, helplessly nothing there were six of them and one of him. He lowered his eyes in defeat and lowered his gun, letting them pass. There was nothing he could do to stop the inevitable.

He rocked back and forth, rhythmically through the screams and gunshots from next door.

Not even an hour after they left, did Johanna arrive, hauling luggage from her trip at the Capitol. He stared impassively ahead as her piercing howls filled the air. They must have timed it, so that the blood would still be fresh and more horrendous.

"You did nothing?!" she sobbed as she grabbed his shirt collars. "You just sat out here and did _nothing?"_

He calmly detached her hands from his shirt. "What lick of a difference would it make if I had?"

She turned her face away, a mask of hatred, and slapped him. Hard. "How can anyone, just sit around and no nothing and let the Capitol do fuck-all and control us?" She stomped away, not into her house in Victor's village, but just away. And he didn't bother chasing after her. He waited until she was back.

"Johanna," he cupped her tear-stained face with his hand. "People are going to die every year. Good people. People that you love," he said sadly, thinking of sixteen-year-old Jakey, who turned out to be every bit of a prodigy as Blight was, but unfortunately there were no guns in the arena his year. And you can't do anything about it but watch. You think you can get back at the Capitol by being a little hot-headed hare ain't doing anyone any good."

He hugged her close, his lips next to her ear. "Remember what Lester said, our time to act will come eventually. Just try to hold it together until then."

She hiccupped and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Is that what you've been doing all this time?"

He thought about the days and nights alone, mostly outside but sometimes in his room, the coldness of his rifle in hand. When sometimes the nightmares and guilt and dead tributes became too much.

"Yeah. Keep it together Jo, you don't know how many people out there need you."

**Cabel Ren, District 13 Scientist**

"That's Blight isn't it? He won during our year." Tally, Cabel, and Dexter watched the halo-screens from their metal seats in the District Thirteen cafeteria. Close friends since their arrival and through their respective research, marriage, and promotions, they trusted each other like how they couldn't trust the others in District 13.

They watched him through his interview, tugging his cap over his eyes and mumbling in that country accent of his, about how great and powerful the Capitol was, and how he wished they would once again show the mercy they had shown to the star-crossed lovers from Twelve.

"You think he knows?" Tally asked. It was evening and during their recreational hour they liked to have hot water together while watching whatever was on television.

Cabel chewed her lip. "I don't know if he knows, or even how much if he does know.

Dexter sighed heavily. "Once we found out the mockingjay was going into the arena we were trying to get into the network to pinpoint where the arena was located. They really ramped up their security in the last thirty years."

"The original plan was to bring them directly here before reaching the arena wasn't it?"

"Yeah but Heavensbee told us that Snow did a turnover of piloting staff so unfortunately it's a break-in and rescue now. They'll have to spend three days in the arena before we're able to get them."

"Ugh, so complicated"

"Yeah, but what can we do right?"

They watched as he and his partner, some foul-mouthed girl who was one of the more recent victors grab their previous mentors and hustle them through the blood rain.

The group of four ran through the jungle, blood slicking their skin and running into their eyes. "Watch out-" she cried in vain. It was too late, Blight hit the invisible arena and the shock was enough to stop his heart. The cannon went off immediately. Another amazing hardest, who came the farthest in their own respective games, survivor, simply dead.

"Ouch." Cabel clutched her chest with pain.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know... it's just a feeling. It could have been us. I mean, it should have been us almost thirty years ago but just seeing it now..."

"I get what you mean. We were lucky. Is it strange I feel sort of sad? Like, I wanted to meet him, he was from our Games and I get the feeling he would be an interesting person to talk to. I just feel... like something is gone."

"Yeah, I feel it too." The three of them sat in silence for the rest of the viewing.

.

**Priya Paylor, District 8 Rebel Commander**

The rat a tat tat sound of gunfire rang out from above them. A sharp whiz of a grenade.

Shouts of men.

An explosion.

"Dad I'm scared." Priya bit her lip and held her shaking shoulders.

Her father brushed a limp strand of hair from his sweaty forehead. "Now why would you be sweetie? You're the hope of Panem."

Her eyes darted at her father, the tourniquet around his leg barely staunching the bleeding, sweaty and grimy from days fighting on the front lines.

She gave him a weak smile, her warm brown eyes crinkling. She was a grown woman now, a commander of the entire force of District Eight with hundreds of men and women who looked up to her for orders. Still, there were times she didn't know if she was making the right decisions, or if people were following her for no other reason than the hope her father had once gave to them. For now, just for one minute, she let her confident facade drop, and let herself be a little girl.

Her father put his arms around her and she leaned her head against his shoulder. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For believing in me." She gave him a smirk and shouldered her pack. "Come on, we've got work to do."

* * *

_**And that's all that she wrote.** _

**A/N Sorry it's so rushed, but I'm really tired, not confident about my current abilities and will come back and edit when my skills improve. This mean's I'm going to critically appraise adding/deleting characters, scenes, etc and improve pacing. I'm open to suggestions so feel free to send me a PM. On a positive note, this is my first finished "book" at about 70k words and I feel like I accomplished something :) Looking back at stuff I would have done differently I don't think multiple POV was fun to read even if it's the right style for this type of story.**

**My next story will be Robin's Song, a 15k 3 shot story about Katniss' dad. Stay tuned!**


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